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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477798">Prison Currency</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic'>HigherMagic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blomsterfangen (1996), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Belt as a Collar, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Bottom Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Burns, Caretaking, Choking, Cigarettes, Collars, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Drug Dealing, Drugged Sex, Face Slapping, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Language Barrier, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Rimming, Smoking, Somnophilia, Stabbing, Switching, Top Max, Top Nigel (Charlie Countryman), Verbal Humiliation, Violent Sex, bottom max, cigarette burns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:27:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Max needs a break. Nigel needs a backup. In Prague, they find each other and come to a mutual agreement.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Max (Blomsterfangen)/Nigel (Charlie Countryman)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/gifts">Hannibalsimago</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck/gifts">BelladonnaWyck</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you so much to @Avidreadr for helping me with my friend, and for their patience while I worked on this fic! I hadn't seen Blomsterfangen yet, nor written two Mads characters together, so this was a fun challenge! &lt;3</p><p>If you haven't seen the movie, it's available on youtube. This takes place after the canon events of both movies, aside from the obvious, you know, headshot. All you need to know is Max was in prison and is a baby Mads character :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It turns out escaping from a prison is a lot easier said than done. He feels like he's been crawling for hours through shit-water, and it's raining, and the sewer water goes up to his fucking chest. He's glad he doesn't have any open wounds – God knows getting sepsis at a time like this is the last thing he needs.</p><p>He can't go home, can't go to his mother. He owes too many people way too much money to risk her life, and he needs to get as far away as possible from this Hellhole.</p><p>He manages to break for air three miles from the prison, gasping as he crawls out of the storm grate that leads to a river swollen with water. He lays there, for a moment, panting into the wet grass, able to hear the sirens echoing like the wailing bleat of terrified sheep.</p><p>Then, he hears dogs.</p><p>Max curses, pushing himself to his feet, and shoves his hair back from his face. He grimaces, but knows he has to do it – he kneels down and cups his hands in the shitty water, smearing it over his arms, his neck, and his face. It reeks to high Heaven and he's probably going to throw up before all this is over, but at least it'll do a decent job of hiding his scent.</p><p>He hopes.</p><p>That done, he turns tail and starts sprinting. Any direction is better than back. He's facing twenty years at the max security facility, for growing <em>pot </em>of all things. His father – and fuck, his <em>father </em>had been in that jail too – said they wanted to make an example of him. Max knew that. He took the fall on the chance that without any severe priors, he'd get off light.</p><p>That had worked out about as well as his escape plan.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Despite popular belief, Nigel's life doesn't begin and end with Gabi. She wants to run off into the sunset with her American bag of wet feed? Fucking fine. Let them both galivant off wherever they fucking wanted.</p><p>He has an empire to run, and a reputation to uphold. The cops are after him and that's nothing to say for the Russians coming for his hide. He can pay off the pigs, he's done it before, but Russians are…trickier. Less likely to take money because their bosses are often as ruthless as Nigel is and money isn't worth shit when you're dead.</p><p>He packs a bag and leaves. He'll head West, somewhere, for a while, and regroup and come back to reassert himself. He can already hear Darko now, calling him a child, scuttling off to lick his wounds like a beaten bitch. Well, fuck him too, Nigel's down but he's damn sure not out.</p><p>He ends up in Prague, of all places, because that's a big enough city to lay low in and small enough that he'll know if someone's trying to come at him. It's far enough away that only the very determined will come this far. And he has friends here – distant ones, but ones he's worked with before that might be willing to at least give him the time of day.</p><p>He likes Prague, for the most part. It's a lot like his section of Bucharest – there's pretty architecture and pretty women, cheap beer if you're willing to talk loud and throw your weight around a little, and it's freezing cold as shit which means the bars and clubs are packed and it's easier to have a good time without getting noticed among the endless stream of faces.</p><p>No one's going to follow him far as fucking Prague, he's sure, not in law enforcement anyway. The Russians are determined and conniving bitches and he's going to have to start checking around corners and shit when they figure out he's here, but for now he can relax and enjoy himself a little.</p><p>What he needs, first and foremost, is someone to watch his back while he gets in touch with his friends and figures out his next move. Hired goons are easily bought out and all the organizations already know him and his reputation, which means they know who his enemies are and wouldn't hesitate to sell him out for the right price.</p><p>So he needs a new guy. Younger, preferably – not so much a child that they're passionate and brainless, but not so old and they're stiff and slow. Ideally, they'll have something Nigel can promise them or pick at. Not a drug dependent, obviously, but if they have problems at home Nigel can take care of, or they need someone to buy them out of a shitty arrangement somewhere, well….</p><p>He's contemplating life and all its strangeness behind a bar, in a tiny narrow alley that glistens with rainwater, which drips from the gutters above his head, lands in puddles that look more like oil than rain. He's down to his last three cigarettes, which is annoying because the way he's going that won't last him the night and he doesn't particularly feel like making another stop on his way home.</p><p>He doesn't feel like talking or interacting with anyone, which is odd behavior for him. Nigel is, down to his bones, a sociable person. You have to be, in his line of work. Knowing what makes people tick, what they want, being their friend, that shit's valuable as diamond if you can use it right.</p><p>But he doesn't want to, tonight, which is why it's really fucking annoying when the door just past his shoulder busts open and three men immediately come falling out. One of them looks like shit and smells worse, dressed in torn and dirty clothes, hair lank and black around his face. The other two, who are quickly assigned as either security or enforcement in Nigel's mind given that they're teaming up on the first man and dressed vaguely the same, bodily throw the man into the alley hard enough that he skids into the opposite wall and collapses with a groan.</p><p>Nigel's lips purse, and he takes another drag.</p><p>One of the men, the bigger and meaner-looking son of a bitch, spits something in Czech, and then actually spits towards the guy they just forcibly evicted. His companion claps him on the back, and that's the first time they notice Nigel there.</p><p>Nigel grins at them and gives them a thumbs up, and they grunt, turn away, and head back inside. Nigel hears the door lock behind them, and he sighs to himself, finishing his cigarette and flicking it away to join the other two he's smoked since he came out here, all soaked and gradually degrading into a puddle. Well, there goes any notion he might have had of rejoining the party. Not that he particularly wanted to, but he enjoys having options.</p><p>His eyes fall to the body of the man that was just thrown out. His face is illuminated by the glow of a streetlight at the end of an alley. He's pale and young and has black circles under his eyes that might be caused by exhaustion or bruising.</p><p>Above them, it starts to rain.</p><p>Nigel sighs to himself, and walks over, hands in his pockets. He nudges the kid with the toe of his boot. "Hey," he says, using the rudimentary Czech he picked up once he knew Prague was his destination; "You dead?"</p><p>The kid groans, weakly, and Nigel's lips purse again. Alright, not dead. And he probably doesn't have shit on him worth stealing.</p><p>Nigel crouches down and nudges him again, until he's on his side and his head lolls back. Rain makes his eyelids flutter, but they don't open, and his mouth falls open, chest rising in steady breaths. "Hey," Nigel tries again. He grabs the kid by the jaw, hoists him up to a sitting position, and gives his cheek a series of sharp taps. "Wake up, fucker, you'll die out here if you don't move."</p><p>The kid flinches, gasps, and opens his eyes all in the same moment. His eyes widen immediately and he scrambles back, though his shoulders immediately hit the wall, so he can't go further, and his legs kick futilely at the soaking wet ground. Nigel tilts his head, already annoyed by the cold rain hitting his back and arms, and now this kid struggling.</p><p>He hits him again, tightens his grip, and shoves the kid's head back against the brick wall, and up so that their eyes can meet properly.</p><p>"Calm the fuck down," he mutters. He can tell by the blank stare the kid is giving him that he doesn't know Czech, or at least not enough to know what Nigel is saying. Nigel grunts. "Calm down. What the fuck you speak, kid?"</p><p>He gets another blank stare for his trouble. Nigel rolls his eyes and shoves him away, pushing himself to his feet and dusting his hands off on the front of his shirt. He reaches into the breast pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes.</p><p>"Getting too old for this shit," he mutters, as he cups his hand and lights it.</p><p>"You -." Nigel turns, brows arched, as the kid stares up at him. He looks…well, to say he reminds Nigel of himself is both accurate and not. Nigel certainly was never some fucking street rat that got himself thrown out of a bar in a country where he doesn't even speak the language. No, when Nigel leaves somewhere, it's because he's being chased or it's his own Goddamn decision. He doesn't get <em>thrown </em>or tossed anywhere.</p><p>The kid stares up at him, clears his throat, and rasps; "You speak English?" In English, of course – at least he's not totally fucking braindead.</p><p>Nigel fixes him with an unimpressed look, and nods.</p><p>The kid winces, and curls to the side, using the wall for leverage as he gets his feet under him and pushes himself, unsteadily, upright. He looks shakier than fucking Bambi, and has got the wide eyes and dumbass look on his face to boot.</p><p>Nigel tilts his head. "You good?" he asks.</p><p>The kid nods, wincing again, and presses a hand to his side. When he pulls it away, his palm is bloody.</p><p>Nigel rolls his eyes. "For fuck's sake," he mutters, and throws his cigarette down half-smoked. He goes to the kid, who doesn't even flinch from him, fucking dumbass, and pulls one arm around his shoulders, his other crushing the kid's ribcage tight to his side so that he doesn't make this any more difficult than it has to be, and starts to walk.</p><p>The kid groans, and goes limp almost immediately. Of course he does. Just his fucking luck.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Max comes to feeling warm, dry, and -. Naked. He opens his eyes and scrambles upright, panting heavily as he takes in his surroundings. He's on someone's couch, and it's ugly and green corduroy, the fabric worn down in places to make it look patchy brown, but the cushions are soft, beaten into submission by many years of use.</p><p>The couch is in the middle of a large room, that from the look of things is the center room of an apartment. He can see three doors, and a window, and when he looks behind him he sees a door that has a peephole, which he assumes is the front entrance.</p><p>Twisting around proves to be a remarkably bad idea, as pain goes straight into the center of his chest and up, so sudden that he feels like he might have momentarily gone blind. He groans, and corrects his posture, closing his eyes as he tries to breathe through it.</p><p>There's a blanket, on the floor. It looks like it was covering him at some point, but fell. Okay, so at least he wasn't <em>totally </em>stripped down and just lying on some strange couch in a strange apartment. He paws, blindly, for the blanket, and pulls it back over his torso and down to his knees.</p><p>Once the pain no longer feels like it's going to kill him, Max gingerly tests the source of it.</p><p>There's a large, jagged line of knotted tissue down his side, from his soft flank to where his ribs start. He lifts the blanket and frowns at it, finding crude but serviceable stitches of dark thread keeping him sealed together, and what looks like Clingfilm taped over it so that it doesn't get contaminated and no blood leaks out.</p><p>The stab wound itself is surrounded by a gigantic halo of bruising, which continues all the way across his stomach, and up to his chest. Those, he knows, aren't entirely because of being stabbed, but kicked and hit. His cheek is sore, too, and when he touches his face, it feels tender and slightly swollen. He tests the inside of his mouth, but finds no cuts from his teeth. His head hurts, but that's to be expected after the night he's had.</p><p>A door opens, one of the ones already in his field of vision, and through it emerges the man from last night. Max tenses as his nameless savior stifles a yawn into the palm of his hand, and passes by Max without a word, as though he's not even there.</p><p>Max frowns at his retreating back. He's bigger than Max, more muscled even though they're around the same height. The streaks of grey in his hair and the silver shade of his stubble, the lines around his eyes, put him older, of course, probably at least twice Max's age. Despite that, he looks strong, and moves with a feline grace that draws the eye.</p><p>He goes to another door, and through it, when it opens, Max sees a little kitchen that looks more yellow-stained than white, like a smoker's teeth.</p><p>The door swings shut behind the man, and Max is alone again.</p><p>He exhales, and searches for his clothes. A fire was lit, at some point – the ash around the fireplace in front of the couch looks fresh, and the scent in the air is of recent smoke, not stale campgrounds. He's been around enough fire to know the stages through smell alone.</p><p>He can't see his clothes, and tries not to let that bother him. Even his underwear is missing. Perhaps the man has a dryer.</p><p>"You want coffee?"</p><p>The call startles him and he tenses up so hard he hisses in pain, tipping his head back and blinking at the ceiling while he waits for the white spots to disappear. After a moment, the door opens, revealing the other man, who is looking at him with a very unimpressed glare. "Well?"</p><p>"No," Max manages, gritting his teeth. "Thank you, I'm good."</p><p>That, clearly, is not a satisfactory response. The man huffs. "Alright, but you're eating and drinking something," he says, and mutters something Max doesn't understand. It's not Czech, though, he knows that much.</p><p>So they're both foreigners. Maybe that's what compelled the man to help in the first place.</p><p>It takes longer than he'd like for the pain to recede to something bearable, and by that point there is a tray on the table between the fireplace and the couch. One half of it is covered with a poor man's triage suit – there is thread and bloody scissors and needles containing what Max assumes are painkillers and antibiotics, and the roll of Clingfilm, and tape.</p><p>The second half now holds breakfast. Which is toasted bread, water, and coffee.</p><p>The man helps him sit up and all but shoves a slice of toast into his mouth. "Eat," he says, in a tone that holds no room for argument. Max nods, clinging to the blanket tightly around his waist. It's not the first time he's been naked in front of another man, prison will certainly desensitize you to that shit real fast, but it's not exactly comfortable, when he doesn't even know this other man's name.</p><p>He sits and drinks his coffee and smokes cigarettes, and whenever Max finishes a slice of toast he's forced to eat another, until he's four deep and his stomach hurts from eating so much. "No," he says, shaking his head when he's given another. "I'm full."</p><p>The man's eyes, which are brilliantly dark and look more red than brown, narrow. "Full," he repeats.</p><p>"I'm not used to eating so much," Max tells him, honestly.</p><p>The man grunts, and sits back. "Drink, then," he says with a nod to the water. Max swallows, and takes the cold glass with shaking hands. "The fuck were you thinking, getting yourself stabbed like that?"</p><p>"It wasn't intentional," Max replies sullenly.</p><p>"It's never intentional, kid," the man replies with a dismissive huff. "But you don't get stabbed unless you're not paying attention, or you're runnin' your mouth. Which was it?"</p><p>Max winces. "I suppose the second," he replies, and sips at his water. It tastes vaguely metallic but he forces himself not to put it back. He's being shown kindness, after all. "I didn't understand what they were saying."</p><p>"You picked a fucking bad choice of country, then, kid."</p><p>Max glares down at his water and tightens his fingers around it. "My name is Max," he hisses. "Not 'kid'. I'm not a kid."</p><p>Strangely, that reaction makes his companion smile. "Didn't ask, <em>kid</em>," he replies, eyes shining with glee when Max glares at him.</p><p>"What's your name?" he demands.</p><p>"Nigel," the man replies, taking another drag from his cigarette. The empty packet sits between the halves of the coffee table like a separator, a division of violence and sustenance. Max presses his lips together and nods, forcing himself to take another sip of the metallic-tasting water.</p><p>"Thank you for helping me, Nigel," he says, because he's sure he would have been left to bleed out behind that bar, otherwise.</p><p>"You looked like you needed help," Nigel says. His tone of voice is not entirely magnanimous. His eyes are narrowed and sharp, and he looks Max over like he's sizing up a steak at the market. "You often get into fights you can't win because you're dumbass enough to go to a country where you don't speak the language?"</p><p>Max glares at him. "I didn't have much of a choice," he snaps.</p><p>Nigel's eyes flash at that, and he leans forward, elbows on his knees. The ash beading at the end of his cigarette drops, ignored, onto one of many patches on the floor. "Had a rough time?" he asks, in another tone that isn't quite kind.</p><p>Max swallows, and nods, looking away. "I had to get away from where I was," he says.</p><p>Nigel's head tilts. "I get that," he replies, drawing Max's eyes again. "You got that hunted look about you. Seen it before."</p><p>"You have one, too," Max says.</p><p>Nigel stares at him, and then his lips spread into a wide, off-kilter smile. Again, Max is reminded of a cat that has found a good patch of sunlight to bask in. "Do I?" he counters, voice low. "How you figure?"</p><p>"Got used to seeing it."</p><p>"Mm. Prison?"</p><p>It's a good guess, and it's not wrong. Max nods.</p><p>"So you're idiot enough to get caught, too."</p><p>Max huffs, gritting his teeth. "Pissed off the wrong people, I guess."</p><p>"What were you selling?" Nigel presses.</p><p>"Just weed."</p><p>"'Just' weed," Nigel repeats. "No one gets run out of town for just fucking weed."</p><p>"Apparently they do," Max says.</p><p>Nigel sits back again, and takes another drag, smoking his cigarette down to the butt. He flicks it towards the fireplace and doesn't seem to care that it falls short, rolling to a halt against the stone edge. His eyes are calculating and cold.</p><p>Max draws in a breath. "You got another?" he asks.</p><p>"Last one," Nigel says. "You interrupted my night plans to get more."</p><p>"Sorry," Max says, but isn't particularly torn up about it. Nigel must sense that, because his smile doesn't waver. "I can…." He trails off. He has no money to offer to pay for a pack, or to give Nigel so that he might be inclined to buy two, when he inevitably goes out to get more.</p><p>He sets his water down when his hands shake too much. The pain of moving and his now uncomfortably full stomach makes the stitches in his side flare and pulse with agony. He closes his eyes and carefully maneuvers himself back onto his good side, on the couch.</p><p>He doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he opens his eyes again it's dark outside and the tray and surgical supplies are gone. His wound feels better too, and he has a little raised dot in the inside of his arm where a needle went.</p><p>Nigel is in the same seat, smoking and looking at his phone. He seems to sense the moment Max's eyes focus, because he looks up and gives him another cat-like grin. "There's sleeping beauty," he teases, making Max roll his eyes and flush. "Good nap?"</p><p>Max nods, and stifles a yawn against his wrist. Nigel stands, and grabs Max's wrist, forcing him upright. He hisses, flinching when Nigel crouches down beside him and pushes the blanket out of the way so he can look at the stitches.</p><p>"Careful," Max hisses, as the edges of the bandaging are poked at. "Hurts."</p><p>"Yeah, kid, getting stabbed fucking hurts," Nigel replies with an arched brow. He stands and runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back to his face. "You're probably gonna be fine."</p><p>Max stares at him, and swallows. "Thanks," he says.</p><p>Nigel grunts, and moves away from him, taking his seat in his chair. It's an old armchair, the same color and fabric as the couch, and looks in even worse shape, if that's possible. Nigel sinks down several inches when the cushion tries to take his weight.</p><p>"You got anywhere to stay?" he asks Max. Max stares at him, in answer. He swallows, and shakes his head. "Yeah, I figured. Just my luck to get a Goddamn street urchin without a penny to his name."</p><p>Max frowns. "I -."</p><p>"Save me the bullshit," Nigel says, taking another drag. "I checked your shit. No money, not even any identification. How you managed to get across the border, well, that's a neat trick. Useful, some might say."</p><p>Max's brow creases, and he tilts his head.</p><p>"I could use someone that's scrappy," Nigel says. "Recent events notwithstanding, you've managed to survive well enough on your own. Tells me you can figure your shit out when push comes to shove. That's not as common a trait as you might think."</p><p>"I don't understand," Max says.</p><p>"Any particular word tripping you up?" Nigel asks with a tilt of his head.</p><p>Max glares at him. "I'm not stupid," he hisses, "but you're not talking sense, grandpa."</p><p>Nigel merely grins at him. "Where are you from?"</p><p>"Denmark."</p><p>"…<em>Denmark</em>." Nigel blinks, and for the first time he actually looks impressed. "You got across the fucking <em>Baltic</em> and here without getting caught. <em>Damn</em>, kid."</p><p>"Stop calling me 'kid'," Max demands. "I'm not a kid."</p><p>"You're a kid until you prove you're a man in my book," Nigel replies coolly. He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette and takes another drag. Max glares at him, and his eyes fall to the table, where a new pack of cigarettes sits. Next to it, a cheap Bic lighter. He reaches for it, and feels Nigel tense, in his seat. It's a test, he knows enough about prison life and the life of men like this to know that courage and guts are everything. And cigarettes are currency. This is an offering, of some kind.</p><p>He doesn't hesitate, and his hands don't shake as he opens the pack, takes a cigarette out, and lights it. He tosses the lighter at Nigel and sits back against the couch, letting his mouth fill with smoke, that he holds, and lets out slowly through his nose.</p><p>Slowly, Nigel smiles. "Alright," he concedes. "You've got balls, I'll admit. Don't get fucking cocky."</p><p>"What're you gonna do, throw me back out on the streets?" Max challenges.</p><p>Just for a moment, something dark and dangerous shines in Nigel's eyes. It's enough to make Max shiver, though he forces himself not to show it. "Trust me, kid, there are a lot worse things I could do to you, that I've done for a lot less."</p><p>Max presses his lips together, and then takes another drag. It makes his teeth feel numb, nicotine soaking into his blood like slipping into a hot bath. It's welcome and satisfying in its familiarity. He exhales, and looks to the ceiling.</p><p>"So how long do I have until you fuck me up?" he asks.</p><p>Nigel's head tilts. "I guess that depends."</p><p>"You said you needed someone."</p><p>"I do," Nigel says.</p><p>"Well?" Max asks, looking at him again.</p><p>Nigel grins. "I'm in a bit of a bind, friend-wise," he says. He doesn't say this with any trace of shame or annoyance, simply a statement of fact. "I need some time to get my shit together, and I've always valued the currency of friendship."</p><p>"You said people were chasing you," Max murmurs.</p><p>"No I didn't."</p><p>Max rolls his eyes. "Implied it, then."</p><p>"Mm." The hum comes with another cloud of smoke, and both of their clouds are merging together, swirling though there's no breeze to stir them. "Got a beef with some Russians, I'm sure they're calling in all kinds of favors to track me down. I need someone watching my back."</p><p>"Are you asking me to do that?" Max asks, eyes wide.</p><p>"I don't know, are you someone who would be <em>willing</em> to do that?" Nigel's eyes, sharp and shining though they are, give nothing away.</p><p>"You saved my life," Max says quietly. "I've got no money to pay you back."</p><p>Nigel's smile is wide.</p><p>"And what about these people chasing you?" he asks, finishing his cigarette and flicking it as he did the one that morning. Max sees that several have joined the growing pile while he slept. He watches as Nigel pulls a second pack out from his pocket and lights it with the lighter Max threw at him, before he tosses it onto the table, wordlessly implying a trade-off. "Anyone I need to worry about tracking you down?"</p><p>"I doubt it," Max says, shaking his head. "I'm nobody, to them."</p><p>"Mm, yeah, grunts are the ones who tend to end up in prison."</p><p>Max's eyes narrow, his pride stinging worse than the stab wound. "I ran my own fucking operation," he says sharply. "I'm not a grunt."</p><p>"You would be, if you worked for me," Nigel replies flatly. "At least until you get better at handling yourself."</p><p>"You're offering me a job," Max says.</p><p>"Not a job in so far as you'll get paid for it, but in a manner of speaking, yes," Nigel replies. "I'll make sure you're fed and clothed and that you don't get into any shit without backup, unless you go and run your mouth somewhere I can't protect you. In return, you do whatever the fuck I tell you to."</p><p>Max shivers. That's a dangerous thing to agree to. "And if I say 'No'?" he asks.</p><p>"Then I throw you out on the streets and leave you to fend for yourself," Nigel replies, as though this is something he's perfectly capable of doing. Max doesn't doubt it. Just because he was rescued and bandaged up doesn't mean Nigel gives a shit about him. He's used to that, too – friends are odd in the business of drug lords. There was, essentially, family and then everyone else. Friends were the people you trusted to have your back no matter what the situation, who were brothers in blood and everything else.</p><p>If Nigel is anything like him, that position will be difficult to achieve.</p><p>Nigel's head tilts. "Did you grow your own shit?" he asks.</p><p>Max nods.</p><p>"If I sourced you some seeds, could you grow them again?"</p><p>"Sure," Max replies, thinking of the book his father had given him, and the things he'd learned in that pitiful attempt at a greenhouse in the prison. "It's not that difficult. I could do it."</p><p>Nigel smiles. "You could keep a cut of the profits, spend it on whores and smokes if you wanted, but the rest goes to me. Consider it your fee for room and board, and don't smoke that shit yourself, or I'll beat your ass black and blue."</p><p>Max tilts his head. "And all I have to do is stick around and make sure you don't get shanked in your sleep."</p><p>"Mostly," Nigel says, nodding. "Occasional errands, and grow your shit. What do you say?"</p><p>Max stares at the fireplace. It wasn't lit while he was asleep; aside from the growing pile of cigarette butts, nothing else is different. He takes another drag from his cigarette and lets the plume of smoke out as slowly as he's able, even as his lungs twinge and his throat starts to feel sore.</p><p>He considers. The law of the land tells him that Nigel's kindness – as much as a hunting cat can be kind – demands repayment. Nigel saved his life, after all, for all that Max's life was worth saving, to him or to anyone else. That kind of blood oath is not one he's comfortable leaving unpaid.</p><p>And the job itself doesn't sound completely outlandish. Watching someone's back isn't difficult. Nigel doesn't seem like the kind of person to pick fights he knows he can't win. And having a guaranteed roof over his head is nothing to scoff at.</p><p>He swallows, and finishes his cigarette. For lack of anything else to do, he flicks it in the direction of the fireplace, smiling when it skitters across the floor to join Nigel's pile.</p><p>"I think I'd be an idiot if I said 'No'," he finally murmurs.</p><p>Nigel grins. "Yeah, but you're already an idiot in my head, so that's par for the course." Max grins at him. "So you're in?"</p><p>"Yeah," Max says. "I guess I am."</p><p>"Excellent."</p><p>He sits back, and Max flushes again, kneading anxiously at the blanket.</p><p>"Can I have my clothes back?"</p><p>Nigel laughs, for far longer than Max thinks is strictly necessary, and pushes himself to his feet, heading for the third door. "Sure, kid. Sit tight."</p><p>It's the first time Max has heard affection in Nigel's voice. It makes him feel warm, and dizzy, in a way that has nothing to do with the wound at his side. He reaches for the pack of cigarettes again with a smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For @BelladonnaWyck who wanted an expansion into spicy territory. </p><p>Warnings: Nigel is an asshole, you know, like in canon. Not healthy/nice. But they're also in love so, whatever. Mind the tags and enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Max should really know when to pick his battles by now. When to shut the fuck up and keep his head down and do as he's told. Especially when Nigel gives him that look. But he can't help himself – he's spitting mad and Nigel's grabbing him like he fucking owns him and Max has had <em>enough</em>.</p><p>"Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, as Nigel bodily shoves him through the door, back into their apartment. There's blood sluggishly leaking from a cut in Max's lower lip and Nigel's knuckles are bruised, but that's unrelated. Or at least there's a few degrees of separation between them.</p><p>Nigel follows him and slams the door so hard the entire place rattles to the foundations. Max goes still, glaring at Nigel's feet. "You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?" Nigel demands. Max squares his shoulders, grits his teeth, and says nothing. "Huh? Finally learned to shut your fucking mouth?"</p><p>Nigel moves in on him, lunging like an animal, and then there's a hand grabbing Max's jaw, thumb hard on the cut on his lip. He winces and hisses and tries to jerk back but Nigel's nails are tight in his cheeks and he's not going anywhere unless he wants to lose his jaw.</p><p>Nigel's eyes are black as the barrel of his gun. Burn, like the muzzle, as he shoves it between Max's teeth, deep enough that the sight catches on the soft roof of his mouth and he gags around the weapon. His eyes are wide as Nigel smirks, lopsided, head tilted like he's admiring the spread of Max's lips around the gun. He slides it just an inch deeper, and Max has no choice but to take it.</p><p>"You gonna stop being a little shit?" he purrs. His nails flex warningly on Max's cheeks and Max knows, in that instant, that Nigel could blow his fucking head off without blinking. Wouldn't even hesitate.</p><p>He swallows, and nods. Nigel straightens, and slowly slides the gun out of Max's mouth, smiling as a string of spit connects Max's tongue and the muzzle of the gun, before he lowers the weapon, and it breaks, smearing on Max's chin. It stings when it comes in contact with the cut. Nigel's thumb is harsh when he wipes it away.</p><p>"Because of you," Nigel says, in that same low voice, as he pushes Max by his handhold to the large green armchair and makes him perch on the armrest, "that entire meeting almost blew up in our fucking faces."</p><p>Max only has two choices when it comes to keeping himself upright. He can grab the back of the chair and hope Nigel doesn't shove his back farther, or he can try holding onto the man himself. He chooses the former, and winces when Nigel tucks his gun underneath Max's jaw. The metal is warm and wet and fits tenderly between cartilage and bone.</p><p>"They were talking shit about you," Max rasps, because it's clear Nigel is expecting him to say something. Nigel tilts his head. "I wasn't just gonna sit by and let them -."</p><p>"What?" Nigel asks, laughing. "I've been called worse things. And<em> you</em> -." He wraps his hand in Max's long hair and yanks it back, forcing him to bare his throat and give his gun more room. Nigel steps up close between his knees and Max swallows, his entire body tense and sore as he tries to keep his balance. "You need to learn that doing exactly as I say means not getting your fucking panties in a twist every time someone calls you a name."</p><p>Max sighs. "They didn't call <em>me</em> anything."</p><p>Nigel says nothing. The gun falls away.</p><p>Nigel turns and somehow, being let go and left to fend for himself is worse than being hurt. Max scrambles to his feet and chases Nigel, turning him around. Instinct makes Nigel lift his gun in warning, pressing the muzzle to Max's stomach. He could do grievous harm, even kill him, if he decides to shoot.</p><p>Max knows when to be afraid of Nigel and when it's mostly performative. They've been in each other's pockets long enough for him to know that much.</p><p>He sighs, closing his eyes. One hand wraps around the back of Nigel's neck, arm heavy on his shoulder, embracing him as their foreheads rest together. The other flattens on Nigel's hand, around the grip of his gun. He can feel the calluses and dry scabs on Nigel's knuckles.</p><p>"I don't like it when they disrespect you," Max says quietly.</p><p>Nigel huffs. He smells like cigarettes and the shitty paint thinner vodka the Russians fed him. Max only drank enough to make sure the shit wasn't drugged or poisoned but it still coats the back of his tongue and tastes foul.</p><p>Finally, Nigel lets the gun drop. He tosses it onto the couch, since that's the closest thing, and fists his now-free hand in the back of Max's shirt. "You don't have to like it," he says, moment of stillness gone. "Your job is to keep fucking quiet and do what I say, and if you can't do that, I'm not gonna save your ass next time. I'll let them beat you black and fucking blue if I don't get to you first."</p><p>Max believes him. He swallows, and nods, and Nigel grips the back of his head, nails harsh against his scalp, bruised knuckles catching in his hair. Max closes his eyes when Nigel kisses him – it's not the first time they've kissed. Nigel likes getting drunk and high and Max doesn't really care where pleasure comes from, as long as he enjoys it. And there's only one bedroom; after Max healed up he wasn't going to stay on the couch like a Goddamn stray and he didn't expect Nigel to give up his bed because Nigel is in charge and the people in charge get the bed.</p><p>So it's been a lot of wandering hands and slack mouths, skin electric and on fire with overstimulated nerve endings and desperately seeking serotonin to compliment the body high. Max often wakes up with his throat too sore to speak and his knees weak, and he likes it.</p><p>Nigel is passionate. The hand in the back of Max's shirt and the hand in his hair tighten, suddenly, and Nigel pulls back and twists him so Max's cheek and chest hit the wall. He hisses, gritting his teeth, as Nigel holds him still by a hand around his wrist, yanked up behind his back to threaten dislocating his shoulder. Nigel still holds his hair, jerking his head to one side.</p><p>"Answer me, kid," Nigel snarls, teeth to his ear. Max winces and clenches his jaw as both of Nigel's hands go tight on him.</p><p>"I get it!" he snaps, glaring at Nigel out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>"I don't think you do," Nigel replies, and yanks him back from the wall, one foot behind Max's heel so he stumbles to his knees. Nigel lets him go, making him choose between faceplanting on the floor or grabbing for purchase. Max catches himself on the armrest of the couch, on his knees and other hand, panting.</p><p>Nigel passes by him, and Max goes still. He knows better, when Nigel gets like this. Retreating is not an option, even if he had anywhere to go.</p><p>Nigel settles in the armchair with a sigh. Max lifts his head and watches him from beneath his hair. Watches him take his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and light one, tossing the pack onto the table. He paws at his pocket again and uses the lighter he finds to light his cigarette, and tucks the lighter back into place.</p><p>Nigel has a way of making even the most mundane things look like a show. The way his fingers, lazy, hold his cigarette as though it's lighter than air, the way his cheeks hollow as he breathes in, and lets the smoke out through pursed lips. How his neck flexes, so the tattoo of the dancing girl looks like she's moving.</p><p>Max wets his lips, and then those dark eyes turn on him. Nigel tilts his head. His hair got mussed up during the scuffle, and thick strands of it fall across his eyes, ashy to compliment the end of his cigarette and the tan of his skin.</p><p>He takes another drag and slouches in his seat, knees spread, and rests his cheek against his bruised knuckles. He purses his lips and lets smoke fall like water from his nose, and drags his tongue along his lower lip, nail of his thumb scratching at the corner of his mouth as he considers Max.</p><p>"Come here," he says. Max presses his lips together and rises to his feet, and approaches. Nigel holds a hand out to him, and from how he's sitting there's only a few obvious choices. He climbs onto Nigel's lap and grits his teeth, feeling like a Goddamn stripper and far too delicate and weak when he settles over Nigel's thick thighs. Nigel is much larger than Max is, even though they're the same height, and what doesn't separate them physically is made worse by just how much <em>grander </em>Nigel is as a person. He has the kind of personality that takes up a room.</p><p>Nigel smiles at him, and offers Max his cigarette. Max wants it, but turns away, jaw clenching. He hasn't earned it, he knows that. It would be stupid to take a reward when his behavior hasn't warranted it. Nigel makes a quiet, pleased sound, and thumbs at the neckline of Max's shirt.</p><p>Nigel dresses…interestingly, but well. He cleans up good, at least, with nice slacks and suits and collared shirts. Max prefers hoodies and t-shirts and sweatpants, something he can be comfortable in, that'll let him run and move as he needs. When he goes with Nigel to meetings Nigel normally makes him dress up fancy too, but he didn't today.</p><p>Max should have known that was a test, too.</p><p>So he's in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that sags at the neck and has probably been through at least two charity shops before coming to him. It sags around his neck. Max's jaw clenches and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Nigel tugs on the neckline, pulling down to reveal the little cluster of tiny circular burn scars along his clavicle.</p><p>He knows to expect the burn. The pain, as Nigel tenderly rotates the cigarette in his grip and sets the cherry red end to Max's skin. He tenses, upper lip twitching back, eyes fixed very firmly on Nigel's shoulder even as he grabs the other man's arm with white knuckles and sharp nails.</p><p>Somehow, it always hurts just as much as the last time. He can't make his body get used to it. Sweat breaks out along his forehead and he sucks in a ragged gasp as Nigel takes the cigarette away and flicks it towards the stone around the fireplace.</p><p>His hand curls around Max's skull, fingers winding into his hair, and Max is brought against his chest as Nigel shushes him. "Don't act like a fucking child," he says, voice soft despite the harsh words. Max shivers, mouth open as he pants against the tattoo on Nigel's neck as Nigel pets through his hair, and then taps impatiently at Max's hands. "Take off my belt."</p><p>Max fumbles, blindly, caught between the urge to relax into Nigel's gentle hand at his nape and the anticipation, the curiosity, to see what comes next. Nigel is textbook, like that – pain is not usually the last memory he lets Max hold onto. Pain is for enemies and dogs, not friends. Not family.</p><p>They're each other's family, now.</p><p>He unbuckles Nigel's belt and slides it free and Nigel takes it from him, smiling, humming in pleasure, and kisses Max's cheek in reward. "Sit up," he commands, and Max does, both hands on Nigel's chest. Nigel lifts his chin and Max ducks his head, slouching so he can look as small as possible.</p><p>He tilts his head when Nigel touches his jaw, thumb over the cut on his lip again. Nigel's smile is wide, the same as it was before he stood and downed the guy who hit Max with a single solid blow to his cheek. He likes fighting, Max knew this about him from the beginning. He likes being given an excuse to fight.</p><p>He doesn't like Max forcing his hand. That's where the difference lies. Nigel needs to know he's the one deciding what they do and how they do it.</p><p>Max closes his eyes as Nigel winds the belt around his neck, cinches it tight, and buckles it in place so that it won't loosen. The tail of the belt falls between their chests, held in Nigel's lazy grip like a leash. He tugs, to get Max's attention, and when Max meets his eyes he finds them dark and narrowed, crinkling at the corners from how wide his smile is.</p><p>"Get me my smokes," he says.</p><p>Max swallows, and nods. He pushes himself to his feet, cheeks flushing as his loose clothes made it abundantly obvious that he's already somewhat affected by Nigel's kiss, and rough treatment, and the gentle touches after. It's not quite shame, but Nigel is the kind of man who sniffs out weakness like a blood trail, and always goes for the kill.</p><p>He grunts as Nigel's grip tightens on the belt so he can't straighten up to his full height. He glares, for a moment, but Nigel just gives him one of those off-angle, fanged grins in answer. Max turns and grits his teeth as he has to strain against the belt, pawing for the pack of cigarettes that has never looked so far away. He chokes as the belt goes tight around his neck, and has to brace himself against the table, and the tips of his fingers just barely manage to catch the pack as his vision starts to gray out at the edges.</p><p>He sags, pulling the pack to him as the belt goes slack and he tries to catch his breath. Nigel lets out a low, pleased sound, hand flat on Max's back and twisting in his clothes, hauling him back towards the chair. Max falls into Nigel's lap and gasps as he feels that, during his distraction, Nigel unfastened his slacks and the hard line of his cock is big and obvious when he yanks Max over him.</p><p>"Good job, kid," Nigel says, laughing. He yanks on Max's leash before he can protest the nickname. Max sucks in a breath, doing his best at this point to stay conscious, and blinks when the bright red lighter comes into view. "Light one for me."</p><p>Max takes the lighter with shaking hands, and bites his lower lip as Nigel shoves at him, like he's a doll, and balanced precariously on Nigel's knees. He opens the pack as Nigel shoves his sweatpants down to below his ass, baring pale skin bruised by big hands. He slides a cigarette out as Nigel spits on his fingers and gives him a cursory swipe, a brief and rough shove in with two fingers that makes Max whine.</p><p>He tries to keep a hold on the pack, cigarette, and lighter all at once as he puts the filter in his mouth and tries to get a flame to light. Nigel pulls his belt around so that the tail runs down Max's back, and Max hears him spit on his hand again and slickly tug on his cock, and then blunt pressure, just as the flame ignites.</p><p>Max almost chokes and swallows the damn thing whole as he's forced to part for Nigel's cock, and muscle memory alone saves him from dropping anything, or burning himself, or being torn up on the inside as he sucks in a breath, filling his mouth with smoke as Nigel fills his ass with cock. He grunts, hips stuttering, as Nigel palms at his hips and works him down like he's nothing more than a particularly stubborn knot that needs to be worked at.</p><p>Max shivers, and drops the pack and lighter on the arm of the chair, praying to God they stay in place, and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth so he doesn't choke as Nigel penetrates him. He forces himself to relax, because he sure as Hell doesn't have any other option, and Nigel lets out a deep, rumbling snarl of satisfaction as Max sits heavy in his lap, and he's all the way inside.</p><p>"There we go," Nigel purrs, palming at his stomach beneath his t-shirt, his hip, up his back to his shoulder, the belt around his neck. He tugs on Max until Max is leaning back against his chest, feeling so much smaller when Nigel's big arms wrap around him and spread his legs out wide, hooking on the outside of Nigel's knees.</p><p>Max flushes, biting his lower lip as he gets a look at himself. He turns his face away and Nigel tuts, nudging at his ear. "Give it over," he says, gesturing for the cigarette. Max hands it to him and listens as Nigel takes a deep drag, holds it, lets it out in a heavy, warm breath by Max's ear. He shivers full body and rolls his hips, helplessly, at the feeling, goose bumps rising all down his arms and neck. Nigel smiles, and reaches between his legs to play with his cock and balls. Not with any particular desire to make it good; exploring, teasing, simply because they're there and he can do whatever the fuck he likes.</p><p>Nigel's other hand, Christ it feels like they're everywhere, slides up Max's chest and takes the cigarette from his own mouth, offering it to Max to hold. Max does, wincing when Nigel rewards him by giving his balls a gentle squeeze, rubs two fingers behind them to add pressure to the sensation of being so full on the inside.</p><p>"Don't drop it, sweetheart," Nigel warns him, as he spreads his knees even wider, braces himself, and starts to gently rock up against Max. It's not so much thrusting as pressure, ebbing and flowing, and Max grits his teeth and bites down on the filter hard so that he doesn't gasp. His head tips back on Nigel's shoulder and Nigel grins against his jaw, flattens a hand over his mouth to steal the cigarette back and take a drag himself. Max moans as Nigel starts to stroke him, then, tugging harshly on the head of his cock to get him to lift his hips and then slam back down.</p><p>Nigel laughs as Max picks up the pace, bracing himself on the arms of the chair as he grits his teeth and chases the feeling of Nigel's fist tight around the head of his cock, the pressure inside him that he knows can build, he knows it will if he can just get the angle right.</p><p>Nigel blows out another mouthful of cigarette smoke, and it fills Max's mouth when he grabs Max and tilts his head to one side, for a sloppy off-center kiss. Max winces when the ash from the cigarette falls onto his stomach, dangerously close to the head of his cock.</p><p>Nigel growls, and bites right over the cut on his lip, making him groan in pain, hips stuttering in their rhythm. He flicks the cigarette away half-smoked and wraps his hand in the belt, tugging it around to the side again so he can hold Max by the neck, big hand pulling the leather tight as Max keeps riding him.</p><p>It's impossible to keep kissing in this position, and Max knows Nigel isn't going to let him stop or move any time soon. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, panting against Nigel's neck as Nigel wraps the belt around his bruised knuckles, grits his teeth, and yanks Max upright.</p><p>Then, Nigel shoves him to his knees, chest colliding hard with the table. It forces him out and Max winces, feeling too dry and sore. But he obediently spreads his knees as Nigel's big hand flattens on the nape of his neck, flushed cheek against cool wood, and Nigel kneels between his legs, spits on his hand, slicks himself up and forces his cock back inside.</p><p>This position is better. At least Max doesn't feel like he'll snap his spine or his neck if he moves wrong. And it's easier to fuck back, this way, and touch himself. He does, dropping a hand to stroke himself as Nigel pounds into him like a Goddamn animal, rough and fast as he usually is. He's sinuous and strong, and bows over Max, arms and shoulders bulging with muscle. When Max turns his head and looks up at him, he sees Nigel sweating, hair falling across his face, over his eyes, lips parted in rough gasps of pleasure.</p><p>Nigel grunts, and shifts his weight, free hand braced by Max's head as he slides a little closer, coaxes Max's hips a little lower and tighter against him, and when he fucks in again Max's lashes flutter closed and he <em>moans</em>, sensation like a stab wound flying right up his spine. Nigel's lips twitch in a smirk and he does it again, that perfect angle, and Max whines and grits his teeth, bracing himself against the table as Nigel starts a new rhythm, hard and slow and it's like a knife, again, again, <em>again</em> -.</p><p>"Nigel," Max gasps, shuddering as his hand around his cock tightens.</p><p>"Feel good, kid?" Nigel purrs, and Max wants to protest the name again, but his words are lost in a weak whine as Nigel wraps his hand in Max's hair, belt and strands knotting around bruised knuckles, and yanks his head up. Nigel leans down and goes to his elbow, grips Max's chin and kisses him, and every rock of his body against Max's is powerful and crushing and <em>God</em>, Max feels like he's going to explode.</p><p>"<em>Nigel</em>," he moans again.</p><p>"I don't know if I should let you," Nigel muses, as he bites at Max's red ear, his blushing cheek, the back of his neck. Over the cut on his lip, making it swell and throb tenderly. "Teach you a fucking lesson, only people who can keep their mouth shut get to fuck in this house."</p><p>Max's eyes widen in horror. Because he knows if Nigel decided that was the rule, he would obey. Max knows better than to break the rules, if he wants to continue to be protected and cared for and wants to stay part of Nigel's family.</p><p>"Please," he whispers. "I swear. I won't mess up again."</p><p>Nigel grunts, closing his eyes. "I know," he says, in that voice that isn't gentle enough to be completely trustworthy. His hand slides from Max's chin to the cluster of burn marks on his feverish skin, then down further, to the healed stab wound in his side. His hand tightens in warning. "Because you know I'll make you fucking regret it."</p><p>Max nods, gasping as Nigel picks up the pace again.</p><p>"Because you're <em>mine</em>, aren't you, kid?" Nigel presses.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," Max says. It's true. It's been true since the moment Max woke up on Nigel's couch. He turns his head and moans when Nigel kisses him, bites him, fucks <em>in</em>. Goes still, shaking, heavy on Max's back. Max kisses him again, slick and needy, Nigel's tongue in his mouth tasting of vodka and smoke and Max drinks it down like honey.</p><p>He whimpers, when Nigel smiles, and wraps his fingers around Max's cock, stroking with him. "There's a good boy," he purrs, and Max closes his eyes, sags against the table, as Nigel teases his fingers along the head, so that Max can slide his fingers back and stroke pressure behind his balls. He seizes up, trembling, and they both groan in unison as Max starts to come, a rush out of him like broken skin around a knife. Nigel's cock twitches and he pulls back, fucks in, and follows a second later. His undoes the belt from Max's neck and lets it fall and Max gasps, knowing his throat will be tender and bruised within an hour.</p><p>Nigel smears his come-covered hand over Max's face and forces him to suck on his fingers. He pushes himself upright, still buried inside Max, because he's a possessive son of a bitch that way, and Max whines when his fingers withdraw.</p><p>Nigel sighs, heavy and sated. Anger gone, for now. Max allows himself to relax, before he hears the flick of the lighter, and smells the burn of a fresh cigarette being lit.</p><p>Nigel laughs, and lets the fire burn a moment longer, before he tilts it and lets it rest against Max's spine. It's not hot enough to really burn him, but it stings, and hurts, and makes him tense up around Nigel's softening cock.</p><p>"You fuck up again and you're not gonna like what I do," Nigel says. Promises.</p><p>Max swallows harshly, wincing at the ache in his throat, and nods. "I understand," he replies. Then adds, grinning, "Grandpa."</p><p>Nigel huffs, but when Max tilts his head to look at him, he's running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and looks more amused than anything else. "Smartass," he murmurs, soft with affection. Max allows himself to relax, then, over the table, until Nigel either pulls out and tells him to clean himself up, or they go for round two. Either option is likely, with a man like Nigel.</p><p>He reaches for the pack of cigarettes and takes the lighter from his back, lighting one so that he can smoke while Nigel makes his mind up. He feels more than hears Nigel laughing, as the other man idly wipes his come-soaked fingers clean on Max's back.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to @BelladonnaWyck for more prompts for this pairing. It's fun playing in a non-existent corner of the HEU sandbox lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life with Nigel is relatively simple, all things considered. Nigel is easy to please. Max does what he's told and grows them shit to sell and lets Nigel put his dick wherever he wants. In return, he gets a roof over his head, guaranteed warm meals, whatever beer and cigarettes he wants, and, well, the fucking usually works out for him pretty nicely too.</p><p>Nigel likes to party. He's a hedonist, and Max has had his fair share of weed and whatever shit that's been given him to smoke. Nigel's favorite vice of choice, it seems, is cocaine. It makes him wired and energetic and on the dangerous side of manic, but he's always in such a good mood when he's high, at least around Max, and while cocaine tends to leave Max exhausted and lax after the initial high fades, he likes seeing Nigel so chilled out and happy.</p><p>So when Nigel offers him lines of white powder, usually on his finger that he slides into Max's mouth to make him suck clean, Max takes it. He's gotten used to just taking whatever Nigel puts in his mouth, be it food or fingers or other parts of him.</p><p>And he'll grin through a haze as the room starts to spin, pat Max's cheek affectionately, call him 'kid' in a way so fond and warm that Max has started not to mind it as much. And they'll smoke and laugh and drink and Max will end up getting fucked to within an inch of his life while he fights to stay conscious and Nigel's big hand suffocates him against the bed or the couch or the floor, wherever they happen to end up.</p><p>When Max wakes up, he becomes aware of several things one right after the other. The first, that he's so fucking thirsty and his mouth is so dry that his tongue is stuck to the roof and peels off like Velcro. The second, that he's naked and in their bed in Nigel's apartment. The third, that he's sweaty and his heart is racing.</p><p>The cause of that becomes obvious, when Nigel's strong arm worms around his stomach, and yanks him back, and Max's entire body jerks as Nigel's cock sinks into him. The soreness that follows tells him Nigel's been at this a while, casually using Max's body while he sleeps.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," Max hisses, as Nigel presses close and ruts against him like a mindless animal. He's panting against Max's neck, nosing his hair to one side and biting kisses to his red skin. His nails dig into Max's lower stomach and claw through him. Max bites his lower lip, eyes falling closed, as Nigel draws back and fucks in again, harder this time, almost sending Max to his stomach.</p><p>"Rise 'nd shine, kid," he says, voice slurring. He might still be high, he certainly sounds fucked-out and lax, purring like a big cat as he nuzzles Max's dark, sweaty hair. "<em>Fuck</em>, you feel good, gorgeous." His hand moves, comes down in a hard smack on Max's ass, and he winces and clenches up. "That's it. Nice and tight for me."</p><p>He does it again, and it stings. Nigel is strong and doesn't pull his punches for the sake of teasing. When he hits, he only has one setting, which is as brutal and hard as he can. It sends sensation ricocheting all the way up and down Max's spine, and he makes a rough noise, turning to bury his face in his pillow, gritting his teeth as Nigel fucks through his spasming muscles.</p><p>Nigel laughs at him and worms his arm around Max's neck, forcing him to arch back and grind as Nigel yanks him back with his other hand, clawing at Max's thigh to get him to spread his legs, whorishly wide. Nigel lunges for him and they go rolling, almost to the edge of the bed, Max crushed beneath the other man's weight.</p><p>Nigel fists his hand in his hair and yanks his head up, biting a kiss to his lower lip. "Spread your fucking legs," he commands, and Max clenches his jaw and obeys, sighing at the little rumbling, pleased noise he receives. He turns his head so he can see Nigel's face, see his hair flat and shining in the morning light, falling across his face, mouth parted and nostrils flared. He looks like an animal, even more so than usual.</p><p>"You still fucking high?" Max says, half a complaint, half a stuttering moan as Nigel finds the angle that's <em>just right </em>and starts to rut, thighs shoving Max's legs apart further, hands heavy and wide-splayed on his bare back.</p><p>Nigel laughs and Max feels it in his stomach. "As a fucking kite," he replies, wetting his lips. He leans down and licks sweat from Max's shoulder, bites down until Max hisses. He understands the sensation, dim like a memory. He doesn't get hungry on coke but his jaw and teeth feel weird, like they don't belong to him, and the same with weed.</p><p>Nigel groans, then, kissing slick and warm up Max's neck, until he can nuzzle again and flatten a wide hand around the front of his throat, squeezing tight enough Max chokes. "You feel so <em>fucking </em>good," Nigel says, punctuating the words with another powerful thrust into Max's body. Max can feel how pieces of him jerk, his fingers and his hips, stomach tensing as he gets close. "Such a tight, greedy little ass. Fucking whore, come on, beg me."</p><p>He slaps Max, hard, on his thigh for emphasis, and Max moans weakly, eyelids falling to half mast as Nigel finds that spot again with his cock and fucks over it like a deliberate curl of his fingers. The way he's pressed so hard to the bed, his own erection is trapped and getting friction no matter how he moves.</p><p>"Come in me," he whispers. Nigel snorts, and hits him again, forcing him to tighten up with another irritated snarl.</p><p>"Not fucking good enough," Nigel says.</p><p>Max opens his mouth to protest, but falls silent with a choked-off gasp as Nigel rears up and pins him down, and his free hand moves to Max's ass, thumbing his sore rim, teasing him with additional pressure. He hears Nigel spit on his own cock and add to the passable amount of slick already there, easing the glide. He has nowhere to run and he couldn't fight Nigel off if he wanted to.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, Nigel," Max tries again, moaning as Nigel forces his thumb in, and somehow that tiny amount more is so much, too much. Max is sweating all over and his heart is racing and he <em>aches</em>. Clawing at the sheets and mattress does nothing, he feels like he's going to slip away if Nigel doesn't keep a hold of him. "Please. Come in me. <em>Please</em>."</p><p>Nigel huffs, and Max knows he's grinning, that lopsided and fanged way. "Better," he purrs, and leans down, wrapping his thick arms beneath Max's chest and holding him close as he builds up a brutal rhythm. Their bodies collide hard enough that the bed creaks, knocking against the wall. Max bows his head and bites down on his fist as Nigel fucks him, and shoves his legs out wide enough that his hips ache, and then Nigel noses his hair from his nape and bites down <em>hard</em>, going still with a final grunt.</p><p>Nigel's cock twitches, and Max feels come leaking out, dripping down his perineum and his balls. Nigel sags on top of him, breathing hard, nuzzling his flushed cheek and his sweaty hair as he breathes heavy through his orgasm. His arms loosen, and he shoves himself upright, indulging one last rock inside of Max's body that stings more than anything else, before he pulls out.</p><p>Max moans with loss, and reaches beneath his stomach to stroke himself as Nigel collapses onto his back beside him. He turns his head so he can watch, as Nigel lights a cigarette and puts it to his lips, taking in a deep drag that hollows his cheeks and makes his lashes flutter. He's so fucking pretty, and looks best in Max's opinion when he's relaxed, especially after sex.</p><p>Nigel turns, and grins at him, eyes falling to the frantic way Max is jerking himself off and humping into his own hand. His brows arch and he rolls to his side, propping himself up with his hand supporting his head.</p><p>He takes another deep drag of the cigarette, delicately held between his thumb and forefinger, and then cups the back of Max's neck, pulling him into a kiss. Max breathes in as Nigel breathes out, soaking in the smoke, and moans when Nigel's tongue follows, thick and invasive as the rest of him. He feeds Max water and Max moans again, hand stroking faster.</p><p>"Fuck," he whispers, when Nigel kisses him again, head tilted to get deeper, like he intends to devour Max whole. Nigel grins against his mouth and bites his lower lip, tugs on it until it stings. He ashes the cigarette in Max's hair and pulls back to take another drag. "<em>Nigel</em>."</p><p>"You gonna come or not, kid?" His dark eyes gleam with mirth, with sadistic glee. He thumbs at the cigarette burn scars on Max's collarbone and drags his nails across the bite marks and bruises on Max's neck. "Look at you. You look like a fucking whore. Open your mouth."</p><p>Max does, and Nigel shoves his thumb between his teeth. He tastes like smoke and sweat and hooks his thumb into the soft flesh of Max's cheek, making him whine. Nigel lifts his chin. "You should hear how they talk about you. They call you my little bitch. They're not wrong, though, are they? You're leaking my come and begged me for it."</p><p>Max's cheeks grow warm with shame, but it's impossible to deny it; nothing Nigel has said is untrue. Nigel pulls his thumb out so he can smoke again, and leans in, rolling Max onto his back as he breathes smoke into his mouth. His hand slides down, wrapping around Max's cock with his own hand. The cigarette is warm and grazes Max's thigh, and he jerks and winces at the sting of pain.</p><p>"I should stop you," Nigel muses, smile wide and wolfish. "This wasn't about you. But you knew that."</p><p>He kisses Max, and Max tenses up as he shoves the end of the cigarette against the crease of Max's thigh. It burns and hurts, awfully, and Max almost bites Nigel's tongue as he comes, spilling thick and wet over their hands and his own stomach.</p><p>Nigel laughs at him, and nuzzles his bruised throat. "Greedy little slut," he murmurs, soft with affection. Max stares up at him, wide-eyed, as Nigel flicks the cigarette away and runs a hand through Max's dark hair. He kisses Max again, robbing him of air, lashes low over his dark eyes and a purr rumbling in his chest as he flattens his hand on Max's softening cock and rubs the mess into his warm skin. Max winces, trembling with oversensitivity, but he doesn't want to pull away. Nigel's affection hits him harder than any drug, his gentleness is a reward that is hard to earn and he doesn't want it to stop.</p><p>Nigel hums, rubbing their foreheads together, noses brushing, and pushes himself upright. "Clean yourself up and get dressed," he commands. "We're finally meeting the Russians today."</p><p>Max nods, swallowing harshly, as Nigel rises from the bed and stretches. He has no concept of modesty, not that there's anything to be ashamed of. Every inch of him is beautiful, muscled and strong. The scars on his body make him look wild and powerful. He's so much more absolute than Max in everything he does.</p><p>"If this goes well," he continues idly, "we're set for life, kid. So make sure you don't run your fucking mouth."</p><p>Max sits up, wincing when his abused body protests, from his bruised neck to his sore ass. They don't say anything more as Max goes to the bathroom to shower, and gets dressed while Nigel cleans himself up as well. Max knows how important this meeting is – Nigel has been talking about it for months. He knows he needs to keep quiet and do exactly as he's told.</p><p>He's gotten better about that, at least.</p><p>Nigel grins at him when they're ready to go, a gun tucked into the back of Nigel's slacks. Max gets a knife, not a gun, he doesn't even know how to use a fucking gun and Nigel hasn't seemed inclined to teach him. Nigel's dark eyes rake him up and down like a predator, smile wide and lazy.</p><p>"If you're good," he purrs, cupping Max's chin, "we'll do something to celebrate. Whatever you want."</p><p>Max's eyes widen. He swallows, and nods. Nigel pats his cheek in a way that would be condescending to those who don't know him – it's a little condescending to those who do – and they leave the apartment together.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The meeting goes well. At least, Max thinks it does. He doesn't know enough Russian to keep up with most of the conversation, but by the end of it Nigel is practically glowing with pleasure, vibrating with happiness. That might have something to do with the vodka and cocaine they shared to celebrate the new deal, Max doesn't know.</p><p>He's buzzing and high as they stumble back to their apartment. Nigel lays the gun on the coffee table and turns to Max, yanking him in by the zipper of his jacket and kissing him roughly, teeth clacking and a growl stuck in his chest.</p><p>"Nigel," Max gasps, as Nigel paws at him and draws him in, finds the knife in one of the pockets of Max's jacket and throws it to one side. Nigel hums at him, and sucks a bruising kiss to his neck. "When you said – <em>oh, fuck</em> – when you said we could do whatever I wanted, did you mean it?"</p><p>Nigel pulls back, blinking at him curiously. "Sure, kid," he says, smiling wide.</p><p>"…Can -?" Max swallows, and sucks in a breath. "Can I fuck you?"</p><p>Nigel's eyes flash, and his head tilts to one side. His smile, for a moment, grows very sharp. "What, you wanna be the man tonight?" he asks, and Max flushes, because Nigel is laughing at him again. He fidgets, biting his lower lip, and nods.</p><p>Nigel does laugh, then, and shrugs, loose and lazy. "Sure, why not. I'm in a good enough mood. But you're not gonna fuck it up. Come here."</p><p>Max's eyes widen, and he follows Nigel towards the couch, staring in disbelief as Nigel unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, throwing it over the back of the couch. "I don't trust your virgin ass to know how to fuck properly," he says. Max huffs. He wasn't a fucking virgin, and he's certainly not one now, but he's not about to start arguing and running his mouth when he's so close to getting what he wants.</p><p>Nigel undoes his slacks and shoves them down along with his underwear, kicking them off with his shoes so he's completely naked. He turns, and settles on the couch, slouching down in a sitting position. He grins up at Max and wets his lips, reaching down to palm his cock. "Strip, sweetheart," he purrs.</p><p>Max doesn't remember the last time he stripped this quickly, almost falling over himself as he forces his fumbling hands to shove off his jacket, and his t-shirt, and pushes his sweatpants down to his ankles so he can step out of them. Nigel spreads his legs and Max goes to him, stumbling to a halt when Nigel sits forward, fast as a cobra, and grabs him by the throat.</p><p>"Get on your knees," he says. Max sinks to them immediately, and Nigel's eyes darken in pleasure. "Good boy."</p><p>Max swallows, throat flexing against Nigel's bruising hold. Nigel lets him go, and sits back again, and lifts one foot to brace his heel over Max's shoulder, on the coffee table behind him. Max's eyes drop to Nigel's cock, now half-hard and leaking already. His hand is wrapped around it, stroking lazily. Max knows just how capable those hands are, of gentleness and brutality in equal measure.</p><p>"Go on," Nigel purrs, and offers Max his cock. "Fucking earn it."</p><p>Max swallows, and leans in, parting his lips as Nigel wraps his free hand in Max's hair, gripping tightly. He lets go of his cock and holds Max by the nape of his neck with his other hand, waits until Max sucks the head into his mouth, and then fucks up, shoving the entire length down his throat. Even half-hard, he's big, and Max chokes, throat spasming around the intrusion. Nigel tips his head back with a sated sigh, thickening further in Max's mouth. He holds him down, nose crushed to his pubic hair, as Max tries to breathe and starts to grow dizzy from lack of oxygen.</p><p>Nigel sighs, and pulls him back, fucking him down again before Max has a chance to take a breath. He works him just like that, cavalier as always, using Max's mouth as Max gets with the program and starts to suck in earnest, cheeks hollowing. He knows if he can just be good, Nigel will reward him. Nigel doesn't break his promises.</p><p>If he says Max can fuck him, he can. He just has to earn it.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, you're getting good at this," Nigel whispers, the praise settling heavier than any body high Max has ever felt. He closes his eyes and makes himself relax as Nigel gets fully hard, lets his neck go lax as Nigel continues to fuck his throat. "Such a pretty little cocksucker. Good boy."</p><p>Max moans, and reaches down to touch himself.</p><p>Nigel growls, and yanks him off, slapping him hard enough that Max's eyes snap open, wide, and he gasps. "Don't you fucking dare," Nigel hisses. "No touching."</p><p>Max whines, and nods, taking his hand away.</p><p>"That's better," Nigel purrs, smiling. "Not wasting your two pumps on your own fucking hand, kid."</p><p>Max nods, and Nigel brings him back to his cock, fucking away his protest, and his answers. When his lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen, his throat and jaw is sore and he is relying more on Nigel's grip than his own ability, Nigel pulls him off again, wrapping one of his hands around his cock, the other in Max's hair.</p><p>"Now you're gonna get me nice and wet," Nigel says, grinning. He slouches down further and spreads his legs, baring his hole. Max's eyes fall to it, and he licks his lips, biting his lower one, which is bruised and sore from Nigel's cock. "And make sure you do it right. If you fuck this up, you'll regret it."</p><p>Max knows he will. If nothing else, he doesn't want to make it so Nigel never offers him this chance again.</p><p>He leans in, until Nigel's grip on his hair pulls and stings, and pulls Nigel's ass apart with his fingers so that he can lick over his hole. Nigel sighs, lifting his other leg and bracing his heel on the edge of the couch as Max flattens his tongue and licks, trying to get as much saliva as possible so that Nigel gets wet.</p><p>He pays attention – he knows Nigel will tell him when he does something good. Nigel's fingers twist in his hair when Max only uses the tip of his tongue, and he pulls hard when Max licks with broader swipes. His fingers tighten in Nigel's ass and he shifts closer until his knees are dug against the edge of the couch, shoulders tense as Nigel moans, pawing at his neck, his scalp, other hand stroking his cock slowly as Max works him open.</p><p>Max closes his eyes, his entire body trembling with anticipation. His knees hurt on the hard floor and his neck aches but he's not going to stop until Nigel tells him to. He pushes in more, forces his tongue <em>just </em>inside, and Nigel lets out a sound Max has never heard before. It's rough and low and <em>drips </em>with satisfaction. Max smiles as he feels a shiver run up Nigel's thighs.</p><p>"That's good, kid," Nigel breathes. "Faster." Max obeys eagerly, flicking his tongue along Nigel's rim, up his perineum until he can delicately suck one of his balls into his mouth, before he returns to Nigel's ass. Nigel groans when he does that, so he does it again, switching between teasing flicks and deep, long licks that make Nigel gasp. "Fuckin' natural. Dirty little slut."</p><p>Max moans, when Nigel tugs on his hair again, and Nigel curses and shifts his weight, spreading himself a little wider.</p><p>"One finger, now, nice and wet," he says, the words a command. Max sucks one finger into his mouth, gets it as wet as he can, and runs it along his tongue as he licks Nigel further open. He follows it with his finger, curling it up like Nigel does to him because it feels so fucking good when he does it.</p><p>He pushes in, and Nigel <em>growls</em>, hand flattening wide on his head. Nigel is tight and warm as sin on the inside, so soft it doesn't feel real. Max moans weakly, sucking his balls into his mouth again as he pushes his finger in as deep as it can go, seeking that spot that he knows from experience will make Nigel feel <em>wonderful</em>.</p><p>He finds it. It's shallow and rough, just a little nut of altered sensation. He rubs his finger over it, petting it like he might touch one of the marks of Nigel's teeth the morning after. He looks up, catches Nigel's head tilted back, chest heaving, neck and face flushed with pleasure. He's sweating, and his hand quickens on his cock as Max continues to rub over his prostate, long curls of his finger that makes Nigel's cock twitch in his own hand.</p><p>"Another," Nigel commands, and Max pulls his finger back, spits on a second, and pushes it in. He lifts to his knees so he can suck Nigel's cock back into his mouth, suddenly ravenous for the pressure and fullness on his tongue. Nigel moans in encouragement, releasing his cock so that Max can take all of him, and he does, eagerly, rubbing his fingertips over Nigel's prostate as he sucks his cock as hard as he can.</p><p>His mouth is flooded with saliva and he can't form a seal. It drips down to his fingers and he uses it to stretch Nigel open further, get him wetter. Every time Nigel tightens around his fingers he moans, unable to fathom how good it's going to feel around his cock.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, that's it," Nigel gasps, eyes narrowed and black, as he lifts his head and meets Max's eyes. He yanks him off his cock, abruptly, and kisses him with teeth. "Get on the fucking couch." Max pulls his fingers out and obeys, sprawling out beside Nigel, and watches as Nigel prowls over him and settles heavy on his lap. He wraps a hand around Max's throat and forces his head up, and kisses him deeply, with teeth and invading tongue. "Come on."</p><p>Max licks his palm and wraps it around his cock, shivering at the heat pouring off his own skin. He's leaking, harder than he can remember being in his life. Nigel straightens so the angle is easier and Max presses his cockhead against Nigel's ass, biting his lower lip.</p><p>It's Nigel, in the end, who takes him. He doesn't let Max look away. The grip on his neck is tight and unyielding as Nigel sinks down onto his cock with a guttural, punched-out noise. Heat grips Max's cock like a vice and he <em>whimpers </em>as Nigel sinks down, until the backs of his strong thighs meet Max's.</p><p>Nigel grins, like this is a personal victory for him. He tilts his head and releases Max's neck, pushing his hair back from his face, and leans in to give him a kiss that's almost tender.</p><p>"If you come before I say you can," he purrs, dark with promise, "I'll cut your fucking dick off, you understand me?"</p><p>Max shivers, and long ago stopped questioning when Nigel's threats started to make his arousal worse. He nods, flattening his hands on Nigel's hips, as Nigel closes his eyes, tipping his head back, and starts to move.</p><p>It's more difficult than he thought it would be, holding back. Nigel is beautiful above him, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other dragging nails down Max's chest, raising sharp red lines. Max holds onto him for dear life and kisses him, panting unsteadily as Nigel fucks himself on Max's cock. Max doesn't doubt for a second who's really in charge here, who's in control. It's certainly not him.</p><p>"Nigel," he moans weakly, gasping as Nigel tightens around him and growls, every powerful muscle in his body riding Max to within an inch of sanity. No high, no night of drunken revelry ever felt this good. Nigel is tight and hot as Hell around him, powerful and strong, and he's beautiful, he's fucking <em>gorgeous.</em></p><p>Nigel stares at him, lips parted, hair falling forward over his face. Max reaches up to push his hair back, cups the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss. He plants his feet on the floor and jerks his hips up, and Nigel snarls in pleasure against his mouth, biting him and clawing at his chest as Max fucks him frantically. He feels wild, untethered, so fucking desperate he's going to choke on it.</p><p>It's so much, it's too much, he's not going to last. He clenches his eyes tightly shut and bares his teeth against Nigel's shoulder, whimpering as Nigel continues to move. "Please," he gasps, his free arm wrapping around Nigel's back and holding on for dear life. "Please, Nigel, can I -?"</p><p>"Not on your fucking life, kid," Nigel snarls.</p><p>"Nigel -."</p><p>Nigel hits him, hard, palm connecting sharply with Max's cheek. But that doesn't help, just spurs him on. He tips his head back over the couch and pants towards the ceiling. He wraps his fingers around Nigel's cock and jerks him off as quickly as possible, hoping that Nigel's orgasm will make him merciful. Sweat stings his eyes and the recent marks on his neck and thigh, and there's so much sensation, pain and pleasure entwining with the drugs in his system and he's getting higher and higher, more, he wants <em>more</em>, he needs it.</p><p>"I'm going to come," he manages to grit out. He couldn't stop himself if he tried.</p><p>Nigel snarls at him, eyes flashing. He's dangerous, Max knows that. It just makes him need it more. "No you're fucking not," Nigel snaps. But he's close, too, Max knows he's close. Nigel's upper lip curls back, showing his teeth, he starts to slow the rocking of his hips, focusing more on Max's grip on his cock, and fucking into that.</p><p>"Nigel, please, please let me," Max begs, desperately, his eyes wide. He clenches his jaw when Nigel grabs his throat hard enough to bruise.</p><p>Nigel grins at him, and kisses him, robbing him of air. And that's it. Max grunts and grabs hold of Nigel's shoulder hard, nails digging into his sweaty skin, as he clenches his eyes tightly shut and starts to come, flooding Nigel's tight ass. Nigel sighs, but doesn't sound angry, and Max clings to that as he shudders through his orgasm. It's powerful and feels never-ending, every ounce of strength rushing out of him as he spills inside of Nigel, body going lax.</p><p>He keeps stroking Nigel, working his cock with a tight fist until Nigel comes onto his stomach with a sated sigh. Nigel leans in and nuzzles Max, gentling his grip on his throat, and kisses him deeply. Both of them are slick and disgusting with sweat, pulses rushing almost in sync, and Nigel kisses him like he's Nigel's drug of choice.</p><p>Then, Nigel starts to move again, and pressed as close as they are, even as Max softens, he doesn't slip out. Max winces, overstimulated and sore. When he tries to get Nigel to stop, Nigel grabs his wrists and pins them to his chest.</p><p>"You're not fucking finished," Nigel hisses. "Not until you learn to do as you're told."</p><p>Max stares at him, wide-eyed. Nigel can't possibly mean -.</p><p>"I know you have at least one more in you," Nigel adds. His smile is wide, and awful, and makes Max shiver. "You're going to stay right here and let me use you like the little fucking whore you are, and <em>maybe</em> when I'm done with you, I'll let you keep your dick."</p><p>Max swallows, flinching when Nigel tightens up around him. Despite how sore and sensitive he is, he can feel his cock twitching with renewed interest. It's clear what Nigel intends for him – to get him hard again, to keep using him until Max can't take it anymore. And even then, he might not stop.</p><p>Because Nigel's affection is just as brutal and dangerous as his anger, and Max is helplessly, hopelessly caught.</p><p>Nigel kisses him, and pulls Max's hands down, forcing him to wrap his fingers around Nigel's cock and stroke. "Get me hard again, sweetheart," he purrs, in a voice that threatens grievous harm should Max fail. He doesn't want to fail. Not Nigel. He never wants to fail Nigel. His fingers form a loose fist for Nigel to fuck into, as he mercilessly rides Max's half-hard cock. Nigel grins.</p><p>"Nigel," he whispers. "Please."</p><p>"Please," Nigel echoes, low and mocking. "Please what?"</p><p>Max wraps his free hand around the back of Nigel's neck, and pulls him into a kiss. "Please don't stop," he says.</p><p>Nigel laughs at him, and shakes his head. "Don't worry, kid," he replies, smiling so, so widely. "I don't fucking plan to."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thank you to @BelladonnaWyck for another prompt! I'm loving this sandbox xD<br/>Another specific warning for Nigel being kind of a dick and also some grey-con somno, dirty talk, Nigel being Nigel...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the soft half-glow of the morning light, Nigel stirs and opens his eyes. The familiar weight of Max beside him, radiating heat like a fucking furnace, is the first thing he becomes aware of. Their mattress is lumpy and hard – Nigel likes it like that – and that means it has no give. When one of them moves, the other becomes aware of it almost immediately.</p><p>He turns his head, flat on his back, and looks at Max. He's still asleep, poor thing, worn out and snoring gently, his lips parted and his hair flat across his forehead and the sides of his face. He's shirtless, a thin sheet wrapped around his hips and hiding his legs, giving the subtlest suggestion of modesty.</p><p>But what skin is exposed is covered in bruises, and marks; clawed lines from Nigel's nails, rings in the shape of his teeth, little clusters of cigarette burns below his collarbone and along his belly. Hidden, as well, bites and burns along his thighs and hips. He's such a needy little slut, he takes everything Nigel gives him, the most perfect fucking boy.</p><p>Nigel watches him, for a long time, contemplating the softness of his mouth, his sharp cheekbones, his pale skin. He looks as different from the pathetic street rat Nigel first met as night to day; still skinny, and there are circles under his eyes that hint at late nights and little sleep, but Nigel likes him like that. It makes his pretty, dark eyes shine.</p><p>Nigel rolls onto his side and touches him. Max is his, after all, and property doesn't protest when it's handled by its master. He touches, first, the dusky circle of the kid's nipple, which peaks immediately between the cool air and Nigel's callused thumb. Max's lips part a tiny bit more, but he doesn't otherwise react.</p><p>Nigel slides closer, lashes low and smile on his face as he thumbs at the burns on Max's skin, the dark bruise on his chest that Nigel left the night before. It's almost black, now, purple at the edges. Those are such lovely colors on his boy, complimenting his dark hair and paleness. Prague is a city capable of long stretches of sunlight, but given that they normally are active at night, he has had no opportunity to tan to the level Nigel has.</p><p>The contrast of his darker skin to Max's makes Nigel think of demons. Makes him think of cutting lines of coke on Max's stomach and licking it off him, shoving his tongue into Max's mouth to get him high too. <em>Fuck</em>, Max is pretty when he's high, doe-eyed and lax and trusting. He's always obedient, does whatever Nigel fucking tells him to, but when he's high it's even better.</p><p>He's a good kid. Nigel fucking adores him, even when he's being a stupid son of a bitch. He smirks to himself, eyes falling to the scar on Max's side, just below his ribcage. It's healed up, a single pink line now that matches the other marks Nigel has given him, and no longer causes him pain when he moves. Whether it was luck or fate that brought them together, Nigel loves looking at it.</p><p>Touching it, as he does now, pulling Max's arm forward so that he can drag his nails along the raised line. Max shivers against the mattress, sleepily rubbing his nose on his pillow, wets his lips and parts them again as he continues to sleep.</p><p>That fucking mouth. Always getting him into trouble. Always making such pretty fucking noises whenever Nigel touches him. Nigel takes the sheet in his hand and pushes it down, revealing more of Max; his thighs, pale and skinny as the rest of him. His soft cock, barely more than a handful until he gets hard, the head the same color as his pink lips.</p><p>Nigel swallows, his own body growing warm as he admires his sleeping beauty. Max must be dead to the world if he hasn't woken up yet. Coke does that to him; wipes him out in a way weed and alcohol doesn't. It's a good thing he's in Nigel's care – men can do all kinds of awful things to pretty boys like him when they're this trusting.</p><p>He pushes himself up on one elbow, propping his head up, his eyes on Max's face as he continues to explore. Max's body hair is dark, little curls on his legs and his lower stomach, just beginning to grow on his chest. Nigel pauses, as Max stirs, shivering when Nigel brushes his knuckles between Max's legs, curling around the soft flesh of his cock and balls.</p><p>He'll wake up if Nigel keeps going.</p><p>He pulls away and rolls to his other side, reaching for the collection of pill bottles he keeps on the nightstand. Drugs are laughably easy to come by here, especially with Nigel's new deal with the Russians that'll let him set up his own supply chain and make him enough money to go back to Bucharest, victorious. Whether he will or not remains to be seen – he's grown quite fond of Prague. Maybe that has something to do with the pretty boy in his bed, maybe not.</p><p>He's sure Max would follow him, either way, but that's a conversation for another time.</p><p>He opens the bottle of Ambien and places a pill on his tongue, and turns back around. He cups Max's nape and tilts him up, leaning in to kiss him and work the pill into his mouth. Max stirs sleepily, lips moving on instinct as Nigel kisses him, and Nigel works his fingers gently along Max's bruised throat, coaxing him to swallow.</p><p>"That's it, gorgeous," he purrs in encouragement, when Max makes another sleepy, confused sound. "Swallow it down. There we go."</p><p>Max's lashes flutter, just for a moment, before Nigel lets him go and pets his hair back from his face. They have to leave for a meeting in about an hour, and he knows he'll need Max calm. The Russians and Nigel have an implicit hate affair, but he knows how they work. The Ukrainians, however, are a whole other set of shits. Nigel avoided doing work with them for a long time, only using them when absolutely necessary, but Max's origins have piqued his interest, and if he wants to break out into the Baltic region without using his Romanian contacts, he's going to need their permission to use their supply routes until he can establish his own.</p><p>Max hums and Nigel works a finger into his mouth, making sure he's swallowed the pill. He smiles when he sees Max swallowed it – such a good boy, taking whatever Nigel gives him – and kisses his forehead, breathing him in. Max always stinks of Nigel and sex, now, with hints of the weed he grows, cigarettes, vodka; he smells like a whore, like <em>Nigel's </em>whore.</p><p>Heat runs down Nigel's spine again, the sunlight coming in combining with Max's presence to get him stiffening. He rests their foreheads together, and takes Max's limp hand, wrapping their fingers around Nigel's cock and stroking himself to full hardness. Max's brow creases, but combined with his own sleepiness and the drug slowly making its way through his system, he doesn't otherwise react.</p><p>Nigel growls, jaw tightening and eyes closing as he gets fully hard. He leaves Max's hand on his cock, rutting against it, nails biting into the kid's thigh as he moves closer across the mattress until he can rut against Max's thigh, giving himself another tease of friction.</p><p>Soon, though, that's not enough either.</p><p>Max wets his lips again, and Nigel leans down, kissing at the corner of his sweet mouth. He licks his cheek, his jaw, pushes himself up so he can reach Max's bruised neck and sink his teeth in. Max whimpers, shivering against him, and stirs again.</p><p>"Nigel?" he slurs, barely a word.</p><p>Nigel shushes him, and wraps a hand in his hair. "Quiet, kid," he murmurs, smiling when Max's brow creases at the nickname again. Nigel pushes himself to his knees and Max's hand falls away from him. He straddles Max's chest, pulling him down just a little so his head is barely angled up on his pillow.</p><p>He touches his face, coaxing his lips apart, showing Nigel his lower teeth and the tip of his tongue. He puts his thumb on it, petting Max's tongue, and moves up him, until the head of his cock brushes Max's wet lips.</p><p>Anyone who'd call Nigel a homophobic slur clearly have never had a pretty boy sucking them off. Max's mouth is just as wet as a pussy, tight and eager, and burning hot. Nigel grits his teeth and sinks into Max's mouth, sliding his thumb out and cupping the back of his head as he tilts his chin up, shuddering as his knees sink below Max's pillow and he lifts Max onto his cock, until he hits the back of his throat.</p><p>Max chokes, whining, but doesn't push him back. Of course he doesn't – he's a good kid, he does and takes what Nigel tells him and what Nigel gives him. Nigel's other hand fists in his hair, pushing it up and out of his face as he groans, fucking into Max's mouth with slow, smooth rocks of his hips.</p><p>Max whimpers, opens his eyes slowly. His cheeks hollow as he comes to terms with the weight and thickness of Nigel in his mouth, and he looks up, startled. Nigel grins down at him and rubs a thumb at the corner of his eye affectionately, as Max gets with the program and closes his eyes again, going lax so Nigel can use him.</p><p>"Good boy," Nigel growls, gasping as Max's throat clenches around his cock. Nigel lifts his head up further, forces his cock deeper, until Max chokes, chest heaving as he tries to breathe. But he doesn't fight Nigel off. "That's a good little slut. So fucking pretty."</p><p>Max moans, cheeks going red as Nigel fucks his mouth. Nigel loves how hard he gets off on Nigel being mean to him. He's perfect, takes Nigel like he was fucking made just for him. Nigel thrusts in again, crushing Max's nose to his pelvis, as Max chokes and whines, pawing gently at Nigel's ass.</p><p>Nigel groans, pulling back to let the kid breathe. Max's mouth is wet and red, and he opens his eyes to stare up at Nigel, even as Nigel smears his wet cock all over the kid's cheek. His eyes are hazy from the Ambien, unable to focus, his grip weak as he pets Nigel's ass and lower back with wide hands.</p><p>"Open your fucking mouth," Nigel demands, and Max obeys readily, head limp as Nigel lifts him and fucks his throat again, relishing the clench of hot, slick muscle, the way Max chokes and floods with saliva. "Wetter than a fucking woman, kid, <em>fuck</em>."</p><p>Max whines again, tears shining in his eyes.</p><p>Nigel pulls out and slides back so he can kiss Max, tongue deep in his mouth. Max tries to kiss back, Nigel can tell he's trying, but his tongue is limp and he's too out of it to really do anything. His hands are gentle on Nigel's back, sliding up and holding him like they're lovers.</p><p>Nigel kisses his forehead, closing his eyes, and rubs his nose against Max's hair, as he begins to get damp with sweat.</p><p>"Nigel," he whispers again, a little clearer but still soft and wrecked. "Fuck me?"</p><p>Nigel laughs, and bites the red arch of his ear. "Gonna fuck that pretty mouth," he promises. Max's breath hitches. He nods, though Nigel certainly doesn't need permission to use his belongings as they're intended. He rises up and feeds Max his cock again, moaning and planting a hand on the wall as Max does his best to move as well, working himself down onto Nigel's cock and sucking as hard as he can. "Fuck, gorgeous, that's it," he whispers, when Max's tongue curls around his cockhead, licking with heavy, uncoordinated swipes. "Getting so fucking good at that, my perfect little whore."</p><p>Max moans, and gasps when Nigel pulls out of him again, stroking his cock as Max tries to catch his breath.</p><p>"We're meeting the Ukrainians today," Nigel tells him. Max nods, licking his sore lips. "If it goes well, I'll let you be the man again tonight."</p><p>Max's eyes widen, brighten with delight. He smiles shyly, touching Nigel's chest, his thighs, his arms, as though he can't decide what he wants to touch more.</p><p>Nigel smiles wickedly, and he leans down to bite Max's lower lip. "You gotta do a good job stretching me out again," he says, with a warning. "And you have to behave. If you don't, I'll make sure you fucking regret it."</p><p>Max shakes his head. "I'll be good," he swears. Nigel knows he will. They've had their rough spots, but ultimately, Max is a good fucking kid. As long as he does what he's told, Nigel could keep him forever.</p><p>He moves off Max's chest and pulls him further down the bed, angling him so that his feet hang off the corner. There's lube on Max's side of the bed, which he takes out and hands to him. Max's fingers shake as he uncaps it, and Nigel climbs back onto him, straddling his collarbones, cock slipping across his lower lip. Max lifts his head and licks at the tip, smearing precum all over his mouth.</p><p>Nigel cups his skull and leans down over his head, until he can hold himself up with his other elbow, resting on the pillows. This way, he can fuck Max's throat properly, and he does, sinking into the boy's wet mouth and driving as deep as he can, fingers clenching in Max's hair.</p><p>Max's moan is lost as Nigel fills him up, thick cock plugging him full. Max's wet fingers slide between Nigel's legs, pulling his ass apart to bare his hole. One hand wets him, the other cups his balls and strokes behind them, putting pressure on him inside and out as Max slips the first finger inside.</p><p>Nigel grits his teeth, groaning against his own fist as he uses his boy. He rakes his nails across Max's scalp, closing his eyes as Max slides a finger into him, curling it just two knuckles in as he seeks out that spot that makes white go off behind Nigel's eyes. He's a smart kid and learns quickly, and finds it within minutes as Nigel brutally fucks his throat. He can feel saliva welling up around his cock, fucked out every time Nigel sinks into his mouth.</p><p>Max chokes again and Nigel pulls back, allowing him just a single gasp of air, before he keeps going.</p><p>"Good boy," he growls, reaching down to hold onto Max's hair with both hands as he uses his mouth. He's sure it looks obscene, like he's humping the mattress like a fucking dog. He curls up and looks down, sees Max's face just barely beneath the shadow of his own body. Max's eyes are closed, face streaked with tears and saliva, his cheeks so red. His shoulders tense as he fingers Nigel, pushing a second one in so he can put more pressure on Nigel's prostate.</p><p>Max pinches Nigel's prostate from the outside, stroking him with both fingers in slow, unhurried motions that make Nigel feel like he's swallowed rocks. It feels so fucking good, Nigel's getting to the point where he's going to come, he knows he is, deep in Max's sweet throat, making him take all of it, filling his greedy boy's mouth like the personal fuck toy he is.</p><p>Then, he hears Max make a rough, choked sound. He looks down and sees Max's free hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking quickly.</p><p>Nigel snarls, pulling off and rolling to the side. He yanks Max up by his abused throat and smacks him hard across the face. "Did I say you could touch yourself?" he demands. Max goes still, staring up at him with wide, hazy eyes. He shakes his head and Nigel tightens his grip. "Answer me, you fucking slut."</p><p>"No," Max manages, wincing as he tries to speak around his swollen muscles and Nigel's tight grip on him. He moves his hand away from his cock.</p><p>"That's right," Nigel hisses. He wraps his fingers around Max's cock and squeezes it tight enough he knows it hurts. Max flinches, whining, shivering all over. "If you wanna be the man you're not wasting your pitiful fucking dick on your own hand, you understand me?"</p><p>Max nods, pawing at Nigel's arm until Nigel, finally, lets go. He sucks in a harsh breath, hitching as he tries not to choke around his own air. He squirms under Nigel's tight grip, flinches again when Nigel drags his nails up Max's cock, to the sensitive head, and pinches it.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he rasps, too fucked-out and drugged to really be able to get away. "I'm sorry – Nigel, <em>please</em>!"</p><p>Nigel hums, and pinches it for a second longer, before he releases. Max shudders against him, and rises up, plaintively kissing Nigel's neck, his shoulder, as Nigel gentles his hand on Max's cock. Nigel can admit, the reaction surprises him – even when Nigel is cruel, Max runs to him like a loyal puppy. He's sore and fucked-out and can barely talk, his bruised mouth gentle on Nigel's skin as Nigel touches him.</p><p>Nigel sighs, closes his eyes and tilts his head, teeth on Max's sweaty neck. "This is mine," he growls, jerking Max's cock for emphasis. Max nods against him, breathing hard. "No one fucking touches it but me, do you understand?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," Max replies, earnestly. He clings to Nigel and his breath hitches in something dangerously close to a sob, tears tacky on his cheeks and smearing on Nigel's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'll be good, I swear."</p><p>Nigel smiles, and pulls Max back by his hair, kissing him. He releases Max's cock and pushes himself to his feet on the side of the bed, dragging Max to him, on his back, head hanging over the edge. "Good boy," he praises, and cups Max's nape. Max opens his mouth without being told, letting Nigel feed him his cock again. Nigel sighs, tilting his head back, and takes Max's slick hand, bringing it back around so he can get back to work.</p><p>Max makes a sound that feels like gratitude, throat tensing around Nigel's cock as Nigel fucks him and Max goes back to stretching him out. He's still hard, despite Nigel's cruel treatment, leaking onto his belly. All of him is flushed down to his stomach.</p><p>Nigel looks down at him, admiring how Max's throat bulges when Nigel is all the way inside. He puts his hand around it, groaning at the feeling when Max chokes and drools around him. "Such a good boy," he whispers, looking at Max's cock again. He lets go of Max's throat and reaches down to cover Max's cock instead, giving him the tiniest amount of friction to grind against</p><p>Max moans loudly, his fingers curling inside Nigel as much as he can, stroking him relentlessly. Nigel's thighs tremble, and he locks his knees, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth.</p><p>"Don't fucking come," he warns, and pinches Max's thigh for emphasis, right over one of the marks from his teeth. Max whimpers, hips rising and cock twitching, leaking onto his stomach. Fucking whore. Nigel does it again, grinning widely when Max cries out around his cock, tongue fluttering along the shaft as Nigel keeps fucking his throat.</p><p>He can tell Max is getting close. The franticness of his fingers moving inside Nigel and the way he's desperately sucking Nigel's cock, needing him to finish, is as much a sign as his red, neglected cock and the pool of precum dripping into the little trail of hair below his navel. One day, Nigel vows, he'll see if he can make Max come just from pain. He thinks are slicking his fingers with Max's come and his tears, what that would taste like, and the answering surge of arousal is so strong he almost comes on the spot.</p><p>He drags his nails up and pinches Max's nipple, and Max surges up with a plaintive cry, jerking his head so that Nigel's cock slips out of his mouth. "Nigel, <em>please</em>," he cries, voice thick. Nigel looks down at him, his red face screwed up in agony. "Please stop."</p><p>"<em>Stop</em>?" Nigel echoes, brows lifting.</p><p>Max swallows, gasping. "I'm so close."</p><p>Nigel laughs at him. "Alright, sweetheart," he purrs. He cups Max's face in both hands and feeds him his cock again. This time, he doesn't bother holding back. He fucks his way deep into Max's throat and hooks his thumbs into the corners of his mouth, making him drool all over the place, tears mixing with it so that there's a growing wet patch on the floor. He slides one hand back to the base of Max's skull, holding him at the ideal height, forcing his cock again and again through Max's sore throat muscles, watching how they bulge, how his stomach tenses and his chest hitches whenever he can't breathe.</p><p>Max continues to finger him, fast strokes around Nigel's prostate. The heat in his chest is becoming unbearable, everything in him telling him <em>deeper, harder</em>, <em>faster</em>. He fucks Max's throat like he would the boy's ass, using him because he <em>belongs </em>to Nigel, this boy is fucking <em>his</em>.</p><p>He feels his orgasm like a trickle, at first, his ass getting tight around Max's fingers. Then, like a tidal wave, flooding out of his cock and deep into Max's throat. Max chokes, and Nigel watches as it wells up at the corners of his mouth, thick and creamy, dripping down his tear-stained cheeks. Nigel sighs, pulling back just a little as Max struggles to breathe, one hand stroking down Max's throat to encourage him to swallow just like he did the pill.</p><p>Max trembles as Nigel comes, and slides his fingers out when Nigel is finished. He cups Nigel's thighs with gentle hands, running them up Nigel's back, and tilts his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the last dregs of come from Nigel's cock until he feels drained dry.</p><p>Nigel exhales heavily, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face, and lets his cock slip free from Max's bruised lips. Max swallows, but there's still so much on his face, his cheeks stained red and white and shining with tears and spit. He helps Max sit up and Max flinches when Nigel climbs on the bed behind him.</p><p>"Hey, hush," Nigel soothes, pressing gentle kisses down the kid's sore neck. Max is still trying to catch his breath, on the edge of hyperventilation, his cock an angry red and leaking, every inch of him trembling and sore. Nigel rubs his hands over Max's chest, down his stomach, back up. "There we go. Good boy, calm down."</p><p>He cups Max's head and forces him to turn, kissing his cheek and licking at the mess. Max's mouth is so swollen, lips almost as purple as the bruises on his chest.</p><p>"Not gonna hurt you," Nigel promises, as Max's racing heart begins to slow, his breathing gets a little more even. Nigel grins, and kisses his neck. "I'm gonna go get something to keep me stretched out, and you're gonna put it in, and then we can clean up and get going, okay?"</p><p>Max nods, and turns at that, reaching out to Nigel. He's so sweet, such an innocent fucking kid. Nigel cups his chin and kisses him, feeding Max his tongue as Max moans, neglected cock twitching against his stomach.</p><p>Nigel straightens, and circles back to his side of the bed. The first time he'd taken Max's cock had been very pleasant, especially when Max, as always, proved to be really fucking good with his mouth, but it had taken him by surprise. Nigel doesn't get as much out of the foreplay as Max does; he's more of a spit-and-shove kind of guy, and if this meeting goes as he plans, he doesn't want to waste any time.</p><p>He takes the box out and slides the drawer closed, sitting next to Max on the bed. Max leans in so he can see, cheek on his shoulder, still panting. When Nigel opens the box to reveal the contents, Max turns his head and buries a needy noise against his skin.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," he whispers.</p><p>Nigel smiles, taking the plug out. It's short and bulbous, a very generous taper at the tip widening dramatically to something big enough to mimic Max's girth. Say what you wanted about the kid, he's got a good dick, and Nigel isn't proud enough to get something smaller than what he'll need.</p><p>He turns, and sets the box down, taking Max's chin and pressing the tip to his mouth. "Open wide," he purrs, and Max obeys, cheeks hollow and eyes closing as he swallows the entire toy. Because of the sudden slimming behind the widest part, he can seal his lips around it completely, sucking on it like a pacifier. Nigel smiles, turning it around so Max can drag his tongue over every side, jerks it back and forth a few times so that he chokes on it.</p><p>"You're so fuckin' pretty when you've got something in your mouth, gorgeous," Nigel sighs. Max's eyes open, pupils flared wide, staring at Nigel like he'd do literally anything Nigel asked. "I should get you a nice big gag and make you wear it whenever I'm not using you. It'd certainly stop you saying stupid shit, wouldn't it?"</p><p>Max whines, and wraps his fingers around Nigel's wrist. Nigel nods and pulls the toy out, handing it to him, and lays on his back with a sigh. He spreads his legs and lifts his hips as Max crawls into place between his knees.</p><p>Max stares at him, free hand pressing flat. He bites his lower lip, wincing when it hurts, and leans down, kissing Nigel's thighs and sucking his balls into his mouth. Nigel shivers, growling low as the tingling aftershocks travel up his spine, as Max licks up his soft cock and kisses the very tip.</p><p>He uses the distraction to push the wet tip of the toy into Nigel. It goes easily, thanks to his stretch job before, and Nigel sucks in a breath at the widest part, as his rim stretches around it and then closes past the bulb. Max grins at him, mischievous and coy, rubbing the toy up so that Nigel gets some <em>nice </em>friction against his sensitive insides.</p><p>Nigel lets him play, enjoying the feeling of Max's mouth so gentle and adoring on his sweaty skin. He's so needy, for a moment Nigel considers saying to Hell with it and letting the kid come inside him now.</p><p>But thinking of how desperate he'll be when the meeting is over, after Nigel has made him wait, makes him bite his tongue.</p><p>Max lets the toy go, cupping Nigel's thighs and nuzzling the hair on his stomach. He sighs, and tilts his head up when Nigel pets his sweaty hair from his face, now so wet that it's black. Nigel sits up and kisses him, cupping his face with both hands, before he lets him go.</p><p>"I should make you wear this to the meeting," he murmurs, thumbing at the drying crust of come and tears and saliva on his cheeks. He devours the soft, protesting sound Max makes, and smiles. "Don't worry, kid; you didn't piss me off that badly."</p><p>Max's cheeks darken further. He slides his hands down Nigel's thighs, and sighs. "Do you think the meeting will last long?" he asks. Nigel grins at his obvious eagerness.</p><p>"As long as you don’t stir up any shit," he replies. He kisses Max one more time, and pushes him away so they can both rise. Max is still so hard, his cock juts out from his body, red and wet at the tip. Nigel nods to it. "And get that under control. Can I trust you in the shower?"</p><p>Max flushes, swallowing harshly, and nods.</p><p>"Good," Nigel says, and pulls him in for one more kiss. "You touch yourself at all and I <em>will </em>cut it off." Max shivers, and rests his forehead on Nigel's shoulder. So needy. Nigel smiles and runs a hand through his hair. He nudges his nose against Max's dirty cheek and pushes him away. "Go on. I'll make coffee."</p><p>Max smiles at him, and leaves to go shower. When the water is running, Nigel stretches and releases with a sigh, put in a good mood as Max, once again, shows how eager he is to please. He leaves the room, grimacing slightly at the foreign stretch of the plug inside him. It's not pressing against anything too sensitive, but it's definitely new.</p><p>He kind of likes it.</p><p>He starts the coffee machine and makes them scrambled eggs, handing Max his plate as they trade off and Nigel can rinse himself down so he doesn't stink of sex either. When he comes back out, Max has eaten and dressed in -.</p><p>He stops.</p><p>He's wearing Nigel's clothes.</p><p>He looks good like that, hair slicked back, in a button-down shirt and slacks, neatly pressed. The shirt is purple, highlighting the lingering blush on his cheeks and the dark marks around his throat, and unbuttoned far enough that Nigel can see the edge of his teeth marks and the cigarette burns. Nigel's breath catches at the sight of him, and Max smiles, like he knows exactly what he's doing.</p><p>Nigel approaches him, with only a towel slung around his waist, and kisses him deeply. "Gorgeous," he purrs, smiling when Max's blush darkens.</p><p>"So are you," he whispers, gently touching the tattoo on Nigel's neck. His eyes are dark, raking down Nigel's body, obviously wanting.</p><p>Nigel leans in and kisses Max's ear. "I'm going to tear these off you when we get back," he promises. Max sucks in a breath, a tremor running down his spine, caught by Nigel's hand when he holds him at the small of his back. "Make it so you can't fucking walk by the end."</p><p>Max shivers again, and smiles when Nigel pulls back. "Looking forward to it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fucking <em>Ukrainians.</em></p><p>Max has never had to deal with them insofar as a group of people Nigel deals with. So far, it's been the Russians, sects of them that Nigel clearly has history with if the way they trade snide comments and lines of coke are any indication.</p><p>His knuckles are split and swollen and he can't breathe right as he gets Nigel back into their apartment. There's so much blood, welling from between Nigel's fingers. When Max puts him on the bed and strips off his shirt, it leaks out like water from a sinking ship. Nigel is pale, grimacing and cursing under his breath.</p><p>There's already scars on Nigel, deep ones that tell Max this is by far not the worst wound he's suffered, but Max is terrified at the sight of it all the same. Even in prison, fights didn't get as bad as they do around Nigel. He has a habit of bringing out the worst in people.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," Nigel snarls, tipping his head back and breathing out through his nose and gritted teeth. His eyes close as Max peels his fingers from the gunshot wound in his side. It's a deep graze, didn't hit any major organs, but there's so much blood and Max's fingers aren't working right and -.</p><p>He forces himself to breathe out. The drug Nigel slipped him this morning, whatever the fuck it was, kept him cool and detached during the meeting as Nigel and the Ukrainians exchanged terms in their guttural voices. He'd been too slow, he hadn't noticed the tension mounting in the room. Hadn't seen the guy behind the boss reach for his gun until it was too late.</p><p>But he'd lunged, all the same, adrenaline kickstarting him into action. Teeth split the skin over his knuckles and he hit the guy so hard he's pretty sure his wrist is fractured, dark and sore and purple, and not because of anything Nigel did to him.</p><p>He'd forgotten what it felt like, to be hurt by someone other than Nigel. He doesn't like it at all.</p><p>"Stay still," he snaps, when Nigel rolls onto his side and tries to get up. Nigel curses at him and Max grabs him by the shoulder with his good – relatively, at least – arm, yanking him back. He plants a hand on Nigel's chest and glares at him. "Stay <em>still</em>."</p><p>Nigel blinks, slow and hazy. It's as good as Max is going to get.</p><p>He rushes from the room and finds their first aid kit. There's shit in here for stitching up wounds like Nigel has. It hurts to breathe in too deeply and it hurts to pant, so Max has to settle for half-gasps as he comes back and kneels on the blood-stained sheets and, again, forces Nigel's hand away from his side.</p><p>"Fucking idiot," he snarls at Nigel, his throat tight, eyes burning. He opens the kit and dumps the contents out somewhere clean, and unwraps the first cleaning wipe. Nigel hisses when he wipes over the wound and Max smacks his hand away when he tries to cover it. "Why can't you ever just control yourself and play nice?"</p><p>Nigel's upper lip twitches. He settles back on the bed, pale and subtly shaking with weakness. Blood loss. Shock. Max is going to <em>kill </em>him if he has the audacity to die.</p><p>"You go on and on about how I need to keep my fucking mouth shut and forget you're still fucking mortal too, you Goddamn -." Max stops himself, swallowing. He throws the wipe away like a cigarette butt and grabs a needle and thread. His fingers hurt, his knuckles too swollen and his damaged wrist won't let his thumb move quite right to flick the lighter on and sterilize the needle.</p><p>Nigel reaches up. His blood-stained fingers brush Max's wrist. "Give it here," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Max hands the needle and thread over, watches Nigel light and burn and thread with ease, even with how weak and badly injured he is.</p><p>He doesn't hand the needle back. Instead, he pushes himself upright so he can see his own injury, lower lip caught between his teeth as he pushes the needle through one tip. "You need to ice that wrist," he says. "And wrap your ribs up. I saw the kicks you got."</p><p>Max did get beaten, too. Badly. His ribs are likely broken given how difficult it is to breathe. Adrenaline and whatever else Nigel doses him with regularly is probably the only thing keeping him upright. But he can't move – he has to watch. He has to make sure Nigel's going to be okay. That's his fucking <em>job</em>.</p><p>"I'm alright," he whispers, and searches for gauze to put over the wound once Nigel is done. At least his isn't large, and it wasn't deep. Once he sews himself shut and gets the bleeding to stop he'll be alright.</p><p>Nigel snorts. His hands don't shake even a little. He's so strong, he's capable as all Hell. No wonder he thinks he's invincible. "That wasn't a fuckin' request, kid," he says, gritting his teeth as he ties up the row of stitches and pulls his skin back together. He knots the string and grips both ends, yanking it loose without tugging the stitches, and tosses the bloody needle back into the kit box.</p><p>"I'm not leaving you," Max snarls, even as he cleans over the stitches with another wipe and gently places a thick patch of gauze and bandaging over it. Nigel stares up at him as Max continues to clean the bloodstains from his side.</p><p>"Didn't say anything about you leaving me," Nigel replies, frowning. "But you're talking pretty high and fucking mighty for a kid who might have internal fucking bleeding."</p><p>"I'm fine," Max insists.</p><p>Nigel's hand twitches, the motion familiar. Max doesn't flinch, but Nigel doesn't hit him. The lack of a stinging slap to his face is almost as shocking as when he gets one. Instead, Nigel takes his chin in a bruising grip and makes their eyes meet.</p><p>"Go get ice for your wrist," he commands, "and let me have a look at you, or I'll send you to the fucking hospital."</p><p>Max knows he doesn't mean calling him an ambulance and making sure he gets care. No, trips to the hospital with Nigel are more like trips to the morgue. Max swallows and Nigel shoves him away, grunting when it pulls on his injured flank. Max catches himself on his bad wrist and almost collapses from the pain, stifling a shriek of agony behind his teeth.</p><p>He rises, and Nigel packs the kit away as he goes to the kitchen. The fridge produces ice, even though it's with the same metallic taste as the water gets, but he's not going to be drinking it. He fills a cup and gets a plastic bag, pouring the ice into it, and twists it closed. He holds it against his wrist and hopes that'll be enough to shut Nigel up.</p><p>Nigel is sitting upright against the headboard, sweaty but clean, the kit on the bedside table, when Max returns. He gestures for Max to come to him and pushes himself upright when Max sits, tugging on the torn and bloody collar of his shirt. Max hisses at the pull on his shoulders, his chest. He beat the guy who shot Nigel until he stopped breathing, but he hadn't gone down without a fight.</p><p>Nigel exhales heavily, as Max's chest is bared, and he pulls the shirt off and over his wrists. Max looks down, too, biting his lower lip. The entire left side of his chest is as black-purple as the midnight sky, and there's a heavy welt on his chest from the pistol whip he received, and of course, his wrist is probably broken.</p><p>Nigel's hands didn't shake when he sewed himself up, but they tremble now. He flattens his hand on Max's side with such tenderness, but it hurts, <em>fuck </em>it hurts. Max hisses and squeezes his eyes shut, head dropping forward and resting on Nigel's shoulder.</p><p>Nigel is gentle, but thorough. He tuts against Max's hair. "Cracked," he murmurs, testing the flex of torn muscle between each of Max's ribs, but finding no thorough break, nothing that threatens his lungs or any of the other soft organs his ribs protect. Every part of him throbs in pain in time with his heartbeat. Nigel takes his wrist in both hands, making him set the ice bag down, and Max whimpers in pain, tears welling reflexively in his eyes.</p><p>Nigel makes another sound, and rests their foreheads together. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch," he says. Max nods. "Try not to scream." Max grits his teeth and nods again, and Nigel pushes his thumbs into the off-angle bone, and <em>yanks</em>, and Max feels and hears the <em>snap </em>of his bones correcting themselves and realigning.</p><p>He sobs, his other fist clenching so hard it sends pain all the way up his arm. His fists on both hands are royally fucked and the tension in his spine makes his chest ache. He was sore going into the meeting, throat bruised to all Hell from Nigel's cock being shoved down it, and the sound he makes when Nigel relocates his wrist comes out ragged and raw.</p><p>Nigel sighs, and kisses his sweaty hair, cupping his nape. He's quiet, for a very long time, and then he murmurs, "You did a good job, kid." Max gasps. "I'm so fucking proud of you."</p><p>The tears Max has been stubbornly keeping back threaten to overwhelm him. He turns his head and tries to bury them in Nigel's neck, shoulders shaking as Nigel embraces him, careful of his injuries. Nigel doesn't say anything, for once in his fucking life, and Max wants to scream.</p><p>He chokes, and manages to murmur, "Please don't die."</p><p>Nigel laughs, at that, a low and throaty chuckle against Max's hair. "Not planning on it," he replies, a smile in his voice. It's reassuring, and even better when Nigel's hand is still firm in his hair, petting it as he always does. Nigel picks up the ice bag and puts it back against Max's wrist, and Max winds his other fingers around it, keeping it there.</p><p>"We need to get some rest," Nigel tells him. "That meeting was a fucking bust, obviously, and they're not going to just let it slide. We need to move on."</p><p>Max frowns. "Move on?" he echoes.</p><p>Nigel nods. "I've been thinking of going home for a while," he murmurs. "Back to Bucharest. Got enough green to get us there and get reestablished."</p><p>Max considers that, blinking through the haze of lingering drugs and the pain that makes his brain feel like it's floating in soup. "Us," he repeats. That's the word he latches onto. He lifts his head and meets Nigel's eyes, finds him smiling.</p><p>"Yeah, kid, you thought I wasn't taking you home with me?"</p><p>Max isn't sure what he thought. The idea of Nigel leaving at all isn't something he let himself think about. Because Nigel has friends and alliances back home. He has people to watch his back for him – he doesn't have that here, that's why he needed Max. Going home means going <em>back</em>, back to the before. And Max doesn't know where he would fit into that. Absently, he knows that there is a possibility he wouldn't fit at all.</p><p>"I -." He blinks slowly, and looks down at the bloodstain on Nigel's slacks. His brow creases. "I don't know."</p><p>Nigel laughs again. Max's insecurities amuse him, they always have. He pushes Max's hair from his face and kisses his forehead. "Get some rest, kid," he says, and shifts on the bed again, and makes Max lie down. Max has neither the physical strength nor the desire to resist him. Nigel holds him close, careful not to touch his torso.  Max is glad that their injuries are on different sides, so they can lie down facing each other.</p><p>Nigel kisses him, tasting of vodka and cigars. The Ukrainians smoked cigars, thick and earthy and not what Max is used to at all. But he kisses back, curling his injured wrist to his chest as he cups Nigel's cheek with his other hand. He doesn't want Nigel to stop kissing him. Kissing means Nigel is alive and alert and reactive.</p><p>He's terrified of going to sleep.</p><p>Nigel pulls back with another smile. He's still pale and his pupils are narrow from adrenaline and pain, but other than that he looks as comfortable as ever. Like he hasn't just been shot. Stupid, overconfident asshole.</p><p>"Rest up, gorgeous," he murmurs, thumbing at Max's cheekbone, over the split in his lip from the shooter's fist, his jaw that aches and he's sure is bruised, too, back and into his hair. It's soothing, and the adrenaline's wearing off, and Max can feel his body entering shutdown for the sake of survival.</p><p>He nuzzles closer, damn the pain and the way his body screams in protest. He closes his eyes as Nigel wraps his fingers around Max's injured wrist, helping him keep the ice in place.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Max wakes when his body's screams of agony force him from sleep. He aches all over, a deep throbbing in his side, face sore and swollen. His wrist and hands feel a little better, but that's about it. It's turning into dawn outside, and his eyes gravitate to Nigel.</p><p>He's awake, Max knows him well enough to know when he's awake, even though his eyes are closed. Max pushes himself closer and kisses him. The bag of ice is water, now, and he tosses it behind him and lets it plop heavy onto the floor.</p><p>Nigel hums, eyes opening a fraction, mouth curved into a wicked smile when Max cups his face and kisses him. Max trembles, and pushes himself upright because he can breathe a little easier that way. He puts his hands on Nigel's chest and looks down, glad to see that the bandages held while they slept.</p><p>Nigel gazes up at him, lazy and fine, sprawled out like a sunning cat and not like a man who just hours ago was clinging to life. "Hey, gorgeous," he purrs, and Max curls his fingers and fights back a sob. He looks down again, to the long scar running from Nigel's hip to the center of his chest. To the bullet wound in his shoulder, and the knife scar on his upper arm.</p><p>He leans down, ribs screaming in protest, and kisses them one by one. Each wound, something he wishes he had been around for. Something that, maybe, he could have prevented. Even though when push came to shove, he had failed Nigel that way, too.</p><p>He closes his eyes as Nigel's hand goes to his hair, winding gently, content to let him kiss and nuzzle and pet to his heart's content. His swollen knuckles ache when he stretches his fingers out, the splits of skin and bone in them sting and crack, welling up freshly, but he ignores it.</p><p>Nigel sighs gently, as Max travels lower. He has to make it up to Nigel. He has to prove that he's worth keeping around despite the catastrophic failure last night. His hurt fingers fumble with Nigel's belt and slacks, but he manages to get them open and down his legs. Max can see the pink stain soaked into Nigel's thigh, his pubic hair reeks of blood when Max sucks his flaccid cock into his mouth.</p><p>"Fuck," Nigel grunts, hand tightening in his hair, head tipping back. Max closes his eyes as Nigel starts to harden, moaning weakly. He has to control his breathing, his chest hurts so badly he can barely handle holding his breath at all. His eyes water and it's not purely from his gag reflex.</p><p>He pulls up, sucking kisses up the shaft of Nigel's cock, pushing his clothes down so Max can kneel between his legs. His fingers lower, already anticipating how much it's going to hurt to pet Nigel from the inside and make him come like that.</p><p>He stutters, hesitating, when he feels the plug. He'd forgotten it was there. He gasps when Nigel looks up at him, and smiles again.</p><p>"Go on," he purrs, spreading his legs. Max trembles, and nuzzles Nigel's thigh as he pulls the plug free. It's shiny and slides out easily after being worn for so long. He drags his thumb over Nigel's rim, finds clinging, sticky wetness of lube.</p><p>He looks up in askance.</p><p>Nigel's smile doesn't change. If anything, it softens. "Go on," he says again. Max swallows, and nods. He doesn't feel like he's earned it, but if Nigel wants him like this, then Nigel will get him. It'll hurt anyway, Nigel's thighs are strong and grip Max so powerfully, it might actually finish the job and drive a piece of rib into his lungs. He'll die fucking Nigel deep and choking on his own blood.</p><p>He doesn't have enough motor control to figure out his own clothes, but Nigel is bigger than him, and he's wearing Nigel's clothes. He shoves his slacks and underwear over his hips and kicks them free, sliding between Nigel's spread thighs.</p><p>He spits on his hand and slicks himself up, sighing when Nigel puts both hands in his hair and stretches him up for a kiss. Even that makes his sore body ache and tense in pain. This is going to hurt.</p><p>Max pushes into him with a soft groan, a punch of breath that makes every inch of him light up with agony even as Nigel's slick, hot muscles grip him like a fucking vice. It's so good, Nigel always feels so good on the inside. He bows down and kisses Nigel's collarbone, kisses the edge of his bandages, the tip of the deepest and longest scar. His hands are gentle, too weak to grab anyway, on Nigel's hips as he pushes his way in, deep as he can go.</p><p>Nigel leans up and swallows his pain-filled moan, bites at the split of Max's lower lip. Max can only cling to him, overwhelmed with relief that Nigel is here. He's alive and reactive and he's <em>here</em>, and he shouldn't be here. By all rights, Nigel should be long-dead. Because Max failed him and before that, someone else did, and before that, someone else, and -.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he whispers, when Nigel leans back and pulls Max over his body. Max is smaller, he doesn't cover Nigel completely like Nigel does to him, but he ruts every inch they share against each other, chests and stomachs and Nigel's cock against his belly, Nigel's teeth on his neck. Max wraps his arms around Nigel's shoulders and clings to him. "I'm so sorry, Nigel."</p><p>Nigel doesn't laugh. But he does smile, and kisses Max with far more gentleness than he deserves. "Don't need your fuckin' apologies, kid," he murmurs. Even the curse on his lips is tender, his eyes shining with affection.</p><p>Max grits his teeth, whining in pain as Nigel bends his legs, squeezes his thighs and ass around Max, mixing pain and pleasure all together into a heady cocktail. Max kisses Nigel breathlessly, helpless to do anything but move, even as his lungs burn and his chest aches so badly he feels nauseous. Nigel grunts beneath him, gripping the nape of his neck and other hand digging nails into Max's ass, urging him on.</p><p>Max cries out as Nigel clamps around him again, his toes curling against the mattress as he fights for purchase. The blood stain on the sheets spreads out in his periphery, reminding him again that the man beneath him, the man holding him so tightly – one inch to the left, or one caliber higher, he might not be here. It fills him with something frantic and terrible. If Nigel had died, Max wouldn't even wait until his body got cold.</p><p>He'd be back there, in that stinking club that reeked of vomit and too-sweet alcohol, sweat and sex and shitty weed cut with fucking oregano, those men all balding and fat and grimacing at Nigel like he was dirt under their shoe.</p><p>"I want to kill them all," Max whispers. Nigel shivers underneath him, mouthing at the bruises spread high on Max's shoulders. Under his arm, flesh tender and swollen. Nigel's hand flattens there and Max bucks against him, clenching his jaw. "Go back and put bullets in their fucking skulls one by one. Beat them into the shitstains they are."</p><p>Nigel laughs, breathlessly. Pressed as close together as they are, Max feels how his cock twitches, thighs trembling in answer. He likes that idea. His teeth touch Max's racing pulse and Max buries his face in Nigel's neck, clinging to him even more tightly.</p><p>"I'd do it, Nigel, if anything had happened to you -."</p><p>Nigel hums, and tugs Max up, kissing him deeply. "Don't worry about it, kid," he murmurs. Max huffs, and winces as Nigel runs a soothing hand down his back. It's force of habit, and it hurts, and Max loves how it hurts. It reminds him that he, too, is alive. They both are. "You made your fucking point."</p><p>Nigel grins at him, holding Max by the chin. "You were on that guy like a fucking dog," he purrs. "My pretty little attack dog."</p><p>Max flushes. That's a new nickname.</p><p>Nigel drags his nails down Max's back again, digging them into his ass as Max slows down. It spurs him on again, and he can't catch his breath, his head swimming and pounding as pain strikes him like hits from a hammer, every time he breathes in, every time his heart beats. And it beats so loud and so fast around Nigel.</p><p>"I didn't think you were a killer," Nigel continues. He's getting breathless now, too, sweat shining on his forehead. Max nuzzles his flattened hair, slides a hand up and knots his fingers tight as he forces himself to keep going. He might not even come, might pass out as soon as he manages, but he doesn't care. Nigel is looking at him like <em>that </em>again, the way he does when he's thinking terrible, possessive things about Max. Things dangerously close to love for men like them. "Proved me fucking wrong. Would you do it again?"</p><p>Max shivers. Growls; "Kill?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"If you wanted me to."</p><p><em>That </em>makes Nigel snarl, his eyes flashing with pleasure, upper lip curling back to show his teeth. Max answers him in kind, bracing himself against the mattress and widening his knees, forcing Nigel's thighs a little farther apart so he can fuck him deeper, harder, without as much strain on his bruised chest.</p><p>"I'll do whatever you tell me to, Nigel," Max says. "You know that."</p><p>Nigel growls, lashes fluttering. Max pushes himself upright, hands flattening on Nigel's hips to hold him still. It's easier and less painful to fuck him by rolling his hips, even if he can't do it as hard. He licks his palm and wraps it around Nigel's cock, stroking him with a tight grip as Nigel groans, tilting his head back.</p><p>Max twists his wrist at the head, fucks in as hard as he can. His thighs ache from the strain and his mouth, his chest, his knuckles are sore from it all, but he knows Nigel's close. He knows Nigel's tells now. He should have known, back in the club. Should have been paying more attention.</p><p>Nigel bites his lower lip, grabs at Max's flanks with bruising tightness, and the thoughts are pushed away by another wall of pain. Max groans, flattening his free hand on Nigel's chest, over his pounding heart. "Look at me," he commands, and Nigel does, and oh <em>God</em>, that's good. When Nigel does what Max tells him to, that's so fucking <em>good</em>.</p><p>Max can't help himself – he leans down again, damn the pain, and cups the back of Nigel's neck, stroking him as tight and fast as he can as he presses deep and ruts into Nigel's slick, warm body. He's burning hot beneath Max, his hands greedy and grabbing, ignoring where Max is tender and bruised.</p><p>Nigel wraps his fingers around Max's injured wrist and Max whines, flinching when his split lip is bitten too. Nigel bites when he's close, so he keeps going, determined to at least get Nigel off before he collapses and tries to catch his breath.</p><p>Nigel snarls against his mouth, holds Max by the neck and pushes him up so he can watch his face. His lips are parted and wet, face flushed, eyes so dark they're almost black. Max pushes against the hold and rests their foreheads together, closing his eyes as Nigel starts to bear down, panting, breath hot on his face.</p><p>Nigel groans, tightening his nails around Max's throat. "That's it, gorgeous," he purrs, as Max whimpers and grits his teeth. "Make me come. Show me how much of a fucking man you are."</p><p>"<em>Nigel</em>." It escapes him, slurred and rough. His throat hurts from yesterday and Nigel's grip is unrelenting. He can't breathe, his lungs hurt too much, his ribs feel like they're made of popcorn, cracking as he moves. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>Nigel's lashes flutter, but he keeps his eyes open, their gazes locked as he tightens up viciously around Max's cock and his thighs clench around Max's waist, pulling him in. He comes with a snarl, showing his teeth and rocking up into Max's sore hand, spilling over his belly. Max is careful to angle him so he doesn't get any mess on his bandage, and lets him go immediately, his fingers throbbing and sore and coated with come.</p><p>He grinds to a halt, breathing hard, and Nigel gives him another wicked smile. "Keep going," he growls, digging his nails into Max's hips and forcing him to move, his strong legs pushing Max in and using the pain to get Max to flinch back, only to pull him in again.</p><p>Max grits his teeth, lifting his head to try and catch his breath. He groans when Nigel clamps down around him, so tight and hot, so <em>alive </em>under his hands, sweaty and heart racing and breathing hard. He's fucking gorgeous, especially after he's just come, but it hurts so much -.</p><p>"I can't," Max whines, face screwed up in agony.</p><p>Nigel's brows rise, and he grunts, and rolls them over, flattening Max to the bed. Max's back screams at being manhandled and he pushes his hands on Nigel's chest, trying to fight him off. Nigel merely grabs his wrists, tight as fuck around the injured one, <em>tighter</em>, it feels like, and pins them by Max's head.</p><p>"I'm not getting off until you do," he promises, leaning down and kissing Max until he's lost all the air he fought so hard to gain. He rolls his hips, powerful and strong on top of Max, hair falling in front of his face. He rubs their foreheads, noses, cheeks together, bites down hard on the ring of cigarette burns on Max's collarbone and Max whines, fucking up despite himself.</p><p>Nigel groans, heavy and satisfied, and sits up, fucking himself easily on Max's cock. It hurts less, without Nigel putting so much pressure on his chest, and while Max can't breathe and he's dizzy and his vision is greying out at the edges, he can focus more on how good it feels, this way.</p><p>"Nigel, fuck, <em>Nigel</em>," he hisses, fingers curling into fists. Nigel grins at him, rutting down, moving on top of him like a Goddamn paid whore. He looks so fucking good like that, selfishly chasing after what he wants. Max lives and dies on giving Nigel what he wants. He tips his head back, trying to keep his eyes open, trying to watch. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>"That's it," Nigel purrs, panting. If he's in any pain he's not showing it, riding Max with the same ravenous desire as he did the first time, with Max pinned on the couch already one orgasm in and so sensitive that it had hurt. "So fucking good, sweetheart, be a good boy and come for me."</p><p>Max whines, flinching as Nigel's hands tighten around his wrists. His bones feel too brittle, grinding together hard as his teeth. He stares up, lost in the tight grip of Nigel's ass around his cock, the press of his strong thighs against Max's flanks, the heat in his dark stare, pinning him in place.</p><p>His orgasm comes for him like the snap of a rubber band. He can't and he can't and then he <em>can </em>and then he is. He moans as Nigel settles on him, breathing hard, as Max twitches and writhes beneath him, filling him up. Nigel sighs, pleased, and Max's throat goes tight at the sound.</p><p>Nigel releases his wrists, lets him pet and touch, and leans down as Max wraps his arms around Nigel's shoulders and kisses him passionately. "Good boy," he purrs, pushing Max's sweaty hair from his face. He smiles, and kisses Max again, before he rises, come dripping thickly from his ass and onto Max's thighs.</p><p>He settles on his back with a sigh, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. Max can hardly move, every inch of him sore and throbbing with pain. He turns his head and forces his arms back down, watching Nigel light himself a cigarette and take a deep drag, cheeks hollowing.</p><p>He breathes out the plume of smoke, and turns his head to meet Max's eyes.</p><p>Max wets his lips, and Nigel grins. He feeds Max his next mouthful of smoke, big hand cupping the back of his neck and lifting him into a kiss. Max exhales shakily, and manages to roll onto his side, his hand settling on Nigel's thigh. He doesn't want to stop touching him quite yet.</p><p>Nigel's eyes soften, just a little, and he puts his hand over Max's. Their fingers lace.</p><p>Max watches him for a moment more, simply breathing. Then, "When do we leave?"</p><p>Nigel grins at him. "When you can walk," he replies.</p><p>Max laughs, and laughing hurts, but so does everything else. His laugh, at least, makes Nigel smile. "Give me an hour."</p><p>Nigel hums, and nods, and goes back to smoking, as Max closes his eyes.</p>
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